


seven years in heaven

by wannabejasmine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repressed Memories, Slow Burn, angst is intense, please take care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wannabejasmine/pseuds/wannabejasmine
Summary: “Seven years ago, today, is the day I fell in love with you.”--or the one where bellamy and clarke cuddle while reminiscing about their 7 year love story
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 19
Kudos: 98





	seven years in heaven

**Author's Note:**

> *ignores every single traumatic character death and plotline and makes an unreasonable & unrealistic happy ending*
> 
> TW: PTSD, traumatic flashbacks, child abuse and sexual abuse. please be safe and take care of yourself 🤍

Not even the glimmering, languid blinks of the stars at Earth's midnight can eclipse the streaks of light sitting next to Clarke. 

Though she tries to focus on the bumps of the dirt path in front of her, she can’t help but look to her right. Madi’s forearm rests on the ledge of the window, strands of hair whipping across her face, even though she isn’t driving particularly fast. The beads that she wove into the child’s hair shine under the silvery light of the moon. Seeing the awe on her face after she saw the beads was worth the hours spent prowling the ocean floor. And more. 

And there it is. That brilliant grin as she sings to a song from Jasper and Maya’s iPod in her small fist. The amount of light that emanates from this child— it defies the rays of the earliest morning sun and surpasses the glow of lightning bugs in the forest. All of that light coming from such a small place. Coming from a tiny human who had experienced so much pain and loss. 

Madi lays her head back against the seat, mouth slightly open as she sings to the lyrics. A loud expletive shakes her out of her thoughts. “Madi! No swearing!” 

Only then did she realize that Maya’s acoustic playlist had been replaced by Jasper’s punk-rock. She reminds herself to scold him later, too. 

“It’s not like I haven’t heard worse from Murphy!"

“Yeah, well, here’s to hoping that you never pick anything else up from Murphy,” she mutters as she pulls through the gates. She waves to Miller and Harper as she passes through. 

“You made us worried. It's late!” Harper chirps, with a soft smile.

Miller shrugs. “I wasn’t worried. I don’t think Clarke Griffin will ever die." 

She rolls her eyes. “Get some rest, you two. Sorry for keeping you up.” 

“It’s no problem. Plus, if we left our post before you came back, Bellamy would probably take away our eating privileges for a week.”

“You’re forgetting that he’s not in charge here. Go to sleep! That’s an order!” she shouts, peeking at them through her rear view mirror. 

A few weeks ago marked the seven year anniversary of them being on the ground. They'd come a long way from the days of fighting off Grounders and clinging to dwindling rations. After the Ark dropped, they had more than enough supplies to reconstruct a village for all of them; and, after months of careful negotiation, they struck a deal with Trikru, exchanging medical help and access to technology for their knowledge of the ground. 

So, everything is as close to peaceful as it could be. 

Clarke parks the rover in front of their cabin. Next to theirs, she sees the dim flickers of light from Jasper and Maya’s. No doubt, him and Monty are still playing video games on the console he and Raven spent months rigging. 

She hears a soft ballad coming from the cabin of their other neighbor. Seeing the shadows peek through the curtains, she imagines Octavia and her daughter (Claudia, named after the Roman princess, which completely floored Bellamy) waltzing around the room. 

“Come on, my little nightblood." She hops out and reaches into the back of the rover to unload their supplies. They pad across the stone path to the clinic. The two of them make routine visits to Tondc every few weeks, to exchange Clarke’s medical expertise for healing plants, serums, and ointments. Madi has a few friends there, too. 

After they deposit the last of the crates, Clarke and Madi head back to the front door. Before they go in, she turns around, hands on her hips. “Madi.”

“Yes?” The child looks up innocently, with big blinks of her full eyelashes. 

She holds a hand out. Madi sighs and reaches in her boot, pulling the iPod out.

“If you try to steal Maya's iPod one more time, Jasper _will_ try to cut off your braids in the middle of the night.” 

Madi rolls her eyes and places the device in Clarke’s outstretched hand.

“Night, Clarke!” Madi exclaims as soon as they enter the cabin.

“Madi! You need to bathe–" but before she can finish, Madi sprints back to her room and closes her door with a soft click. 

She sighs and retreats to the washroom. She scrubs off the dirt and grime from her limbs, and runs some of the lavender soap that Octavia made through her hair. 

She lifts up the sheets and tucks herself into their bed, careful not to wake him. She lays on her side and stares at him. He’s laying on his stomach, back rising and falling with each breath. His hair is splayed across the pillow, and his tan face is flushed because of the heat. He lets out a soft snore. 

She smiles and rests her hands under her cheek, unable to do anything but stare. Bellamy seems to wake up, but keeps his eyes closed. A warm smile spreads on his face. “Good to see you too, Princess." He throws his left arm around her and tugs her towards him. This time, she actually laughs as the unexpected momentum pulls her flush against his chest. He turns to fold her into his arms and she sighs into his chest, flinging a leg over his hip. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you more.” 

“Impossible." 

She rolls her eyes.

“What took you so long?”

“Madi insisted on taking the long way back so she could listen to Maya and Jasper’s playlist all the way through.” 

He chuckles, the deep vibrations pressing against her heart. “That kid is annoying.” 

“She learns from you,” Clarke mumbles into his neck, running a finger down his arm. “Did you really have to be shirtless when I came home from being out all day?”

He pulls her back so their noses touch. His eyes twinkle, full of mischief. “If I didn’t know better, Princess, I’d think you’re trying to seduce me." 

“I don't think I've ever had to seduce you once.” She uses the leg draped over his hip to push herself up. Straddling him, her hands press his chest, leaning down to kiss his jaw.

He flips her over and presses soft kisses down her throat. And then to her chest. And then lower. 

They take their time. Slowly, but intensely. They feel each other on every inch of skin, every high and every low. And when they fall over the edge, they do so together, riding through every ounce of pleasure, each shiver, each shudder, weaving together in rapture. 

After they finish, Bellamy lays a small kiss on her shoulder. “Do you know what today is?”

“The day where I came back from Tondc after 15 hours, and you still made me come three times?” 

Bellamy laughs. “Yes, that, too. But, it's something else.” She raises her eyebrows.

“I’ll give you a hint. Seven years.”

“Well, it was the 7 year anniversary of us dropping two weeks ago."

“Yes. And?” 

“And… I don’t know. I forfeit.” 

He smiles against her shoulder. “Seven years ago, today,” he nuzzles her skin, “is the day I fell in love with you.” 

Clarke takes a moment to remember. She scoffs. “Bullshit.” 

“It’s true.”

“You completely shrugged me off that night. _And_ slept with another girl."

He laughs, tilting his head down to kiss her collarbone. “Don’t be jealous. Nobody makes me feel the way you do. Or blows–”

She bites his jaw. “Ass!”

He rubs his face, pretending to be offended, before he pulls her impossibly closer, his eyes searching hers. 

“Seriously, though. Do you know when it happened?” 

She shakes her head. 

“It all started when I saw you in that hammock in the Dropship.” 

___

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

“Listen– we can’t do this anymore.”

“Why? Literally, for what reason, Clarke?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? Are you seriously asking me that?”

Her voice echoed in the late-afternoon air, the remnants of the sun still beating on them. She raised a hand to her forehead before dragging her fingers through her weather-beaten hair, feeling hot tears itch the corners of her eyes; she’s not sure if they were angry tears or post-acid fog tears. 

It's almost been two weeks since they dropped. But she felt like it'd been a year. 

Two weeks of fighting off Grounders. Two weeks of arguing with Bellamy and his idiot ‘ _whatever the hell you want’_ sycophants. Two weeks of falling for Finn– and then Raven coming down. Two weeks of barely holding on to life as they know it. Two weeks of losing every last person that she loved. 

Behind Finn’s shoulder, she saw a coppery shine streak through the air.

“ _That’s_ why.” She nodded to the figure behind him.

Raven is bent down over a stack of logs, presumably making the trek back from the forest to stoke the lofty, incandescent fire in the middle of camp. Her wine-colored jacket seemed to burn harsher than the flames, and her eyes that flicked up to Clarke and Finn were practically ablaze. If looks could kill, she would have a Grounder spear straight through her chest.

“I really didn’t think I was going to ever see her again!"

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“Please, Clarke.”

Her face softened as she stared into his warm eyes. “I’m sorry, Finn. We just don’t have time for drama down here. We need to focus on staying alive.”

She brushed past him and towards the campfire, intending on helping Raven nurse the growing blaze. She made it a few steps before she saw Bellamy at Raven’s side, laughing at something she said. Feeling like she's intruding on something, she spun on her heel and made her way back to the Dropship. 

As she climbed the ramp, she mentally made a list of all the things they needed to get done in the next few days. They needed to figure out food. Rations were dwindling. She needed more medical supplies, if these kids kept coming in with rashes from the questionable fauna in the forest, or the deep gashes from tripping over rocks and branches. Monty needed to figure out how to contact the Ark, Raven needed to design newer, safer housing before winter, and Bellamy needed to find a way to control the raging mass hysteria that came with each new dilemma in the camp.  
  
She collapsed on one of the makeshift hammocks and stares at the brass ceiling. She raised one of her hands in the air above her face, and winced. The lines on her palm were outnumbered by the crisscrossed gashes and cuts, her knuckles indiscernible from the raw, scabbing skin, and her light skin was filthy, tainted with drying blood, grass stains, and soot. 

“Need a hand, Princess?” 

She dropped her hand on her chest and sat up. “Hilarious.” 

Bellamy crossed the room to her. “Monty figured out that some of the algae and fronds that we found east of the camp can be boiled and made edible. The closest thing we’d get to salad, I guess.” 

“Good. We’ll need to gather as much as we can before the rations run out. The younger kids are starving.” Bellamy nodded, before they lapsed into silence for a few seconds.

He frowned, his eyebrows gathered together. “You good?”

She laughed humorlessly and stared at her hands in her lap. “Yeah. It’s stupid. Just realized that I can’t recognize my own body sometimes. My hands, my fingers. They look so... different. Not like me, anymore.” 

His frown deepened, his gaze turning to her hands. “They’re fine," he stated bluntly.

“Thanks,” she rolled her eyes, shaking her head down at her lap.

He shrugged. “I’m on patrol tonight. I’ll be around.”

She nodded half-heartedly. He pushed open the flap and left without a backwards glance.

 _At least they had learned to be civil_. But– after Atom’s death, and Wells, and Charlotte– she thought that he'd developed a level of respect for her. But still, he sometimes spat out ‘ _Princess’_ like the word was acid on his tongue. But they got things done. They built a campsite from nothing. They managed to keep most of them alive. That was pretty good.

Now antsy for whatever reason, she stood up and decided to tidy the remaining medical supplies. After another hour and a lot of mindless organizing and reorganizing, she figured that there must be something to do with her hands outside. 

Pushing open the flap, she breathed in the damp air. Small licks of the campfire flickered above the flames and dissolved in the atmosphere, reminding her of the lightning bugs that she read about in Earth Skills. She dropped her head back to look at the sky. It was dark and vast, and Clarke wondered how many other 'Ark's exist. Her eyes lingered on each star, that small speck of light that fades in and out of view. 

For a moment, it seemed that everything was okay. That Earth was livable, breathable, sustainable– beautiful, even. 

**__**

**PRESENT**

“You’re telling me that when you saw me lying in the hammock, with one hand in the air, clearly unstable– that’s when you fell in love with me?”

“The heart wants what it wants."

“Oh, shut up,” she shoves him, but he grabs her wrists, spinning them over and pinning them down onto the mattress. 

She raises an eyebrow and hooks a leg around his waist. “Round two?”

He groans, but moves one hand to her waist, pushing it down. “Later. I still haven’t explained why.” 

“Oh, right. The next part is quite interesting."  
  
He collapses face down into the pillow. “Do we _have_ to go over this part? Can’t we just skip it?” 

“You wanted to tell the story. So, you have to tell the whole thing.

He grumbles into the pillow. “It was not one of my proudest moments.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

Standing on the ramp of the Dropship, all thoughts of her unrecognizable skin gone, her eyes sank from the sky to the campsite. A few kids dawdled on scattered tree stumps, warming their hands and throwing nuts in each other’s mouths.  
  
The momentary contentment brought a smile to her face. But it also sparked fierce anxiety. Her eyes darkened at the thought of one of those kids being split in half by a Grounder. Shudders racked her body and she tried to push the intrusive thoughts away. The pleasantness and urgency of the current moment inspired something deep within her. Some sort of need for resolution, for friendship, for amends. As if on a mission, she crossed the camp in large strides, her combat boots crunching the dead leaves and scrap metal parts. Finding her destination, she gripped the edge of the tent flap and peeled it open.

“Raven, I just wanted to–” 

Her words died in her throat as she blinked at the sight in front of her. 

A very naked Bellamy rolled off an equally as naked Raven. She sat up, dragging the sleeping bag over her chest, fire in her eyes. “What, Griffin?” Raven snapped, at the same time that he sighed. 

She blinked, silently, for a few more seconds. “Uh– nevermind. Sorry. My bad, I mean,” she tried to piece together some sort of coherent thought, but failed. She moved to leave, but looked over her shoulder. “Interesting patrol route, Bellamy.”

**__**

**PRESENT**

“That was hot.” 

She rolls her eyes. “It was gross. And I hated you.”

“Hmph.” 

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

He tugged up his pants after he and Raven finished. “Did that help?” 

“No.” 

He shrugged as he pulled on his shirt, frayed at the collar. “I’ll be around.” He didn’t wait for Raven’s response before pushing open the tent flap. As he walked to his own tent, he heard small scratches coming from the Princess’s tent. He spared another glance at hers, wondering if he should stop by, just to fuck with her. After hesitating for a long second, he shook his head and ducked into his tent. He fell asleep to the sounds of her sketching and her huffs of disapproval whenever she made a mistake.

**__**

**PRESENT**

“It wasn’t just a revenge fuck,” she gasps, between laughs. “It was a _shitty_ revenge fuck!” 

“Shut up. I’m better now, right?”

“Whatever the hell you want?" 

He grabs her waist and starts tickling her stomach.

“Bellamy!” 

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

“Bellamy? Or one of– two of Bellamy’s groupies? Are you awake?”

He rolled over onto his stomach with a loud groan. 

“Bellamy. We need to go.” 

“Fuck off.” 

She pushed open the tent flap, peeking at him through her fingers. “Are you decent?” 

He sat up and stretched. “Don’t worry, Princess. I would rather get speared by a Grounder before putting myself in a situation where you’d see me naked."

She dropped her hand with a roll of her eyes. “Okay. I let you sleep in. You said you wanted to leave at dawn. It's around afternoon, now.” 

“When did I ever make any plans that involved you in them?”

“You said you’d teach me how to hunt.” 

“Oh. Right.” He tugged on his jacket and boots. “Why do I have to do that?” 

“A few nights ago, after I complained about not being able to properly handle a knife, you said,” she cleared her throat. "‘Come Monday night, you will no longer be our Princess. You will be a fighter for this new colony.’"

“Was I high?”

“Drunk.”

“Curse Monty’s moonshine,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Okay. I don’t have time for this. I’ll ask some of your shooters to teach me later."

He stood up. “Nah, it's fine. I have nothing better to do.” 

“What about Roma?” 

“Oh, the Princess has a sense of humor?"

She rubbed her forehead. “Can we just go?” 

They stopped by the post at the gate. He slung a rifle over his shoulder and he offered two blades to her, handles up.

She eyed his firearm. “Why don’t I get a gun?” 

“These are for big boys, Princess.” 

“Then why do you have one?”

He glared at her. Murphy and Miller, assigned to the gate today, laughed loudly at their exchange. “Man, you guys are annoying as fuck,” Murphy retorted. 

“She brings out the worst in me.” 

“How much worse can you get? I’m too young to have a ruptured blood vessel."

“Bitch.”

“Ass.” She marched forward through the gate, disappearing through the dense thicket. 

He sighed, looking at Miller. “This is going to be one fucking long day."

**__**

**PRESENT  
  
**

“You really thought you were hot shit, huh?” 

“I was. And I still am.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

As the afternoon sun pressed on their backs, him and Clarke roamed the forest. 

“Are we going for a boar?” 

“Calm down, Princess. Let’s start small." He nodded up to a squirrel clinging to a tree trunk a few feet away from them. 

She stared at him. “What am I supposed to do? Climb up after it like a spider monkey?”

He frowned, the reference going over his head. “No, you’re going to throw the knife,” he said slowly.

“You want me to… throw this knife… and impale that squirrel?”

“Yeah, basically.”

She just stared at him. He sighed. 

“Okay, let’s start with the paring knife." He walked over to her and pulled the knife from the loop of her belt, throwing it up in the air and catching it.

“Was that supposed to impress me?”

“Not really. Just wanted to remind you that if you piss me off, it would take a few seconds for a blade to be lodged in your leg.”

She continued to stare, unfazed. He rolled his eyes.

“Okay, look." He walked over to her and took the knife. “Stand up straight and shift your right foot forward. Grip the handle and leave room between the edge of the blade and your hand. Use four fingers to hold it, and fold your thumb over them to control the knife’s trajectory."

His tan fingers pressed into the handle. “Hold the knife with the blade facing you, handle towards the sky. Angle it slightly backwards. As you reel back, flick the knife as you throw it, and shift your weight forward." He leaned back and threw.

The air whizzed as Bellamy threw the blade right over her head, hitting the tree behind her. She didn’t even turn around. “Again, was that supposed to impress me?”

“Brave Princess. Do it, then.” 

She retrieved the knife and took up the stance, her right boot in front of the other. “Good?” 

“Keep your back straight.” Bellamy stepped towards her, placing one hand at her lower back and the other on her shoulder. "Relax, Princess. Your shoulders are practically made of stone." He shifted his left hand to her other shoulder.

She tensed. He huffed a laugh. “Do I make you nervous?"

Suddenly, he was almost smacked in the nose by her elbow. He watched as the blade spun through the air and sank into the squirrel’s abdomen. 

His eyes grew wide, impressed. “Damn. Nice.” 

She nodded, pleased with herself. “What’s next?” 

He suppressed a smile at the eager look on her face.

**__**

**PRESENT**

“It _was_ pretty sexy."

“The way youhandled the knife was hot. Especially when you almost clocked me in the face.”

“Oh, really?” She climbs over him. “I can handle a lot of things."

His eyes flutter close as her tongue runs lower, and lower down his chest. Over his abdomen, his hips, before settling in between his legs. It's not until another hour before they continue.

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

She tucked in another squirrel in Bellamy’s rucksack. They'd been hunting for a few hours now. And she was ashamed to say that she was having… fun. They hurled insults back and forth, her occasionally shoving him with her shoulder, and him swinging a branch into her face. But she impressed herself, trying the other knives he gave her. 

He gave her approving looks during the whole thing, and she thought he even smiled once. 

The sun began to set, and they headed back to camp. While they were walking, she suddenly ran into his back as he froze in place. 

“What the–” 

“Shut up.”

She looked over his shoulder. There, with two thick horns, dusty fur, and a snapping jaw, was a boar. The animal’s breaths came out in small, loud huffs, as its nose grazed the grass. 

“Want to learn how to shoot a gun?” 

“ _What?_ Right now? As that chubby animal with sharp horns is a few feet away from us?”

“Never knew you were one for fat-shaming, Princess.”

“Don’t even start.”

But she took the gun when he unraveled it from his shoulder and passed it to her. She tucked the rifle up to her neck, the stock pressing into her cheek. One hand on the trigger and the other on the side of the forend.

He sidestepped and moved behind her, his chest up against her back. He placed one hand on her shoulder blade. She looked at him, and he nodded.

One shot cracks through the air. Then another. Her ears rang a bit as she stared at the now-slumped over mass of fur on the ground, crimson red spilling beneath it. 

“What do you know? She can shoot.”

She scowled at him and jerked away from his grip. 

Clarke rambled the whole trip back to camp. She faced him, walking backwards. “Do you see how many squirrels we got?” She raised the bulky rucksack to her eyes. “And, that boar can easily provide one dinner portion per person. Forget the algae farm. If it was this easy for you to teach me, everyone at camp can learn how to hunt.” 

He shifted the boar in his arms. “Slow down, Princess. Not everyone can pick up things as fast as you can.”

She stopped, her arm dropping to her side. “Did you just compliment me?” 

“‘Asshole’ is not my only state of being.”

“Could’ve fooled me."

He raised the boar, pulling back to throw it. Her eyes widened. “You wouldn't."

“Wouldn’t I?”

She spun around and ran back to camp. He laughed loudly and picked up his pace. _Not a bad trip, after all._

When they reached camp, he snatched the rucksack from her hands and dumped the boar in her arms.

She fumbled under its weight. “Bellamy, what the hell–” 

“Clarke?” Monty stared at the boar in her arms, speechless.

“Who’s hungry?” Bellamy howled. Around the camp, teenagers looked up from their posts and saw the boar in her arms. Cheers erupted and echoed into the night.

Roma blinked. “She killed that?" 

“That’s sick!” Connor exclaimed. 

“She’s all grown up,” Jasper lamented, wiping away a fake tear.

The teens swarmed them with huge smiles. “Not bad, Princess,” Murphy nodded, impressed.

Next to Bellamy, she faltered for a bit before he nudged her shoulder. She looked up at him appreciatively. 

“Yeah. It wasn’t too far from camp. We caught it by surprise,” she said with a small smile.

Whistles and claps arose. “Bellamy taught me how to use the gun, though.” 

“All you,” he said plainly. The boys helped carry the boar to the fire, where Raven and Harper set up two stakes in the ground to hold it up over the flames.

For the first night since those teenagers landed, everyone left dinner smiling, full, and hopeful. 

**__**

**PRESENT**

She smiles, raising a hand to his cheek. "I love that part."

He turns to kiss her palm. “Me, too.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

He started to douse the fire after everyone retreated into their tents. After she finally wished goodnight to another girl thanking her for the food, Clarke collapsed on the log bench. Following suit, he settled on the bench next to hers, relief flooding his limbs as he sat. They remained in silence for a few minutes.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

He looked over, seeing that she’s now on her back, looking up at the stars. “Do what?”

“You know. Give me all the credit, or whatever."

“You killed the boar.” 

“You let me. And you taught me.” 

He shrugged. "It wasn’t for you. People will hate you less. They’ll stop trying to rebel.”

She turned her head towards him. “I thought you wanted people to hate me.” 

“It’s easier if they don’t hate the only healer we have.”

“Forget it.”

A few more minutes of silence pass. He grew bored, but was too tired to get up. “Your hands are fine. Your fingers, or whatever."

She pushed herself up on her arms. “I’m sorry?”

“When you were in the Dropship a few days ago. You said that they looked ugly, and you didn’t look like yourself. But they’re fine. I mean, they killed a shit ton of animals today. I’d say they’re good for something.” 

She laid back down and didn't respond for a while.

“I didn’t recognize them because the cuts, the bruises, the soot– they all covered the marks on my fingertips.” 

“Uh, what?” 

“I had these red marks on my fingertips and palm." 

“Like, birthmarks?” 

She paused. “No. I don’t remember when they showed. I used to dislike them. I thought they made me look weird. But Wells drew roses on them to make me feel better. A poorly drawn doodle by a seven year old. But he said that red roses were the prettiest flower.”

Bellamy almost made his usual snarky comment, like ' _that’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard'_ or ' _am I supposed to care?'_

But then he remembered Wells. Alive only a handful of days ago. “Sorry. About Wells.”

She nodded. 

“So, how did you get them, then? If you weren’t born with them.”

“I don’t remember.” Suddenly, she sat up. “I’m exhausted. Night.”

Before he could respond, she walked away.

**__**

**PRESENT**

He simply pulls her closer into his chest.

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

She awoke to a shrill, soprano, frustrated scream. 

She thought that her tent nearly shook from the wicked contempt in the girl’s voice. Running her hand over her face, she let out a sleep-deprived sigh. Her limbs were forced to warm as she pushed open the flap of her tent, preparing for another catfight between two girls who spent their night with Bellamy. Instead, she froze, halfway through the tent flap. 

A few feet away, in front of the campfire, stood the man himself. Well, more like paced, as the younger Blake shouted expletives at him.

“I’m ateenager, Bellamy! I can’t have a babysitter for the rest of my life!” Octavia screamed, getting in his face.

He turned away from her, running his hands through his hair. "It’s not about that, O! There are savages right outside of the gate! They’ve almost killed Jasper! Hell, they killed Atom!” 

Octavia lowered her voice to a deadly pitch. “Don’t talk about him. _You’re_ the reason he’s dead.” She shoved him backwards, punctuating the last word.

He stumbled back into the firewood. He attempted to brush off the soot, now plastered over his biceps. It smeared more. “I’m tired of this, big brother. I’m not under the floorboards anymore.” She indignantly twisted on her heel, her thick, inky hair slicing the air in half over her shoulder.

She watched as the teenager ducked under a gap in the fence and disappeared into the bushes. 

He was still angrily rubbing at his bicep, his breaths coming out as vexed huffs. She rolled her eyes and retreated into her tent to receive a damp washcloth. She made her way over to him, reaching out to clutch his arm. He jerked away, fire in his eyes. She held her hands up.

“Okay. Look like a charred piece of meat for the rest of the day.” She turned to leave, but he reached out to roughly grab her elbow.

“Fine. Just get it off.”

She reached forward, holding the washrag to his upper arm. Softly scrubbing the soot off, she didn’t even utter a word before he started ranting again. “She acts like I’m not allowed to be worried about her! I’ve raised her since she was achild! I’m not some dictator!” 

She went to open her mouth, but his glare stopped her. “Don’t even think about it.”

Rolling her eyes (again), she rubbed his arm more gently now. She noticed that he relaxed slightly under his touch.

“I’m just– I can’t lose her."

Her eyes widened in surprise at his subdued, vulnerable tone. It was the first time she’d heard it. She pulled the now dirty rag away, and he rubbed his clean arm, looking at her appreciatively. “She’s your sister. You would move mountains for her. But she’s not a child anymore, Bellamy. You have to let her be a teenager.”

“She’s not just any teenager,” he snapped, the blaze returning in his eyes. 

Her eyes flickered in submission. She folded up the rag in her hands and turned around to walk back to her tent, a bit overstimulated by the explosive confrontation so early in the morning. One hand gripped her stomach as a growl ripped through her abdomen. _Forget hunger. She’d have to make her way back to the Dropship to carry on her rounds. Probably the usual, steady stream of split knees._

However, before she could carry out her plan, he jogged over and grabbed her elbow, once again.

“Clarke, wait, I’m so–"

She turned around with raised eyebrows. He dropped his hand, and she saw an unexpected amount of embarrassment written on his face. “Can you– just–” 

“Yeah. I’ll go check on her.”

He exhaled in relief. She saw a small glance of gratitude, before his face hardened once again. 

“Thanks.” He nodded stoically, turning on his heel and walking away.

She ducked under the hole in the fence that Octavia did a few minutes ago, and was surprised to find her sitting under a large oak only a few meters outside of the it. Though it was clear that anger still radiated from her small body, she saw the physical and emotional exhaustion from a screaming match settling into her bones; she was slightly hunched over, her hair creating a small curtain over her small frame. Her chest rose and fell with lingering resentment.

A branch crunched under her boots. The sound caused Octavia’s head to snap up. As their eyes locked, one set hazel, and the other a deep blue, she saw the penetrating sadness that occupied her pupils. 

“Hey,” she said softly, walking over to sit on the damp grass.

“Of course. He couldn’t resist sending the Princess.”

She ignored the jab, focusing on the sadness that occupied Octavia’s features. They sat in silence for a few minutes, only the quiet birdsong and white noise from camp filling the air. “Are you okay?” 

_Silence._

“Can I do anything to help?” she asked again, a few minutes later.

_Silence._

Finally, she sighed. “He’s an ass.”

Octavia looked at her, and she was pleased to see the amusement on her face. “You’re right about that.”

Another few minutes passed without any further remarks from the two girls. This time, though, the silence was as close to pleasant as it could be. 

“What do I do?” Octavia spoke into the air, eyes still facing forward. 

She shifted uncomfortably, the oakwood placing too much pressure on her back. “Be patient with him."

Octavia shot her a side glare, but she continued before she could snap something back.

“I know. You’ve been patient with him for your entire life. But we’re all new to this unfamiliar, uncertain, unpredictable place,” she gestured haphazardly around her. “We’re vulnerable.

“But at least on the Ark, he had the floorboards. He knew exactly how to protect you, keep you safe. He even had comfort in the fact that– though you were locked up– you were safe. He came here for you. You’re all he has,” she quietly finished, realizing that she couldn’t relate, at all. The faces of Wells, her father, and her mother all flashed in front of her eyes in hazy, black splotches. 

Octavia seemed to pick up on her revelation, and sympathy filled her big eyes. She didn’t say anything, but Clarke understood the apology lingering in the air. 

“He appreciates you, you know."

She looked at her incredulously and laughed. “Have you seen us together? When I’m not itching to throw him to the Grounders, he’s definitely thinking about pushing me into a cloud of acid fog.”  
  
Octavia threw her head back in laughter, gingerly hitting the bark. She smiled, pleased by the genuine grin on her face. And the unlikely image of her tiny arms chucking Bellamy out of the campsite. After their laughter subsided, Octavia’s eyes were still twinkling.

“I met a Grounder."

Her eyes widened in fear and she stuttered. “Octavia–”

“He’s not like the others!" As Clarke saw the dreamlike gaze not well-hidden in her eyes, she relaxed for a second, letting her continue.

“He took care of me, protected me. He makes these trails of callalily whenever I need to find him. He draws me.” 

She raised her eyebrows. Octavia reached inside the pocket of her worn jacket and pulls out a crumpled, browned piece of parchment. With delicate fingers, she unraveled the paper. Her breath caught. 

In front of her was a true-to-life charcoal rendering of the girl sitting next to her. Her eyes were penciled in with hard strokes, but her irises were smudged. A gentle touch. The hard lines of her face were sharp, but silken, a testament to the fiery girl with a soft underside. _A quality of both Blakes._

She ran one finger over the parchment, gently tracing each line, half in envy, half in wonder. “This is amazing, Octavia.”

She handed the piece of parchment back to her, who stared at it with fond eyes. “His name is Lincoln. I really like him.” Octavia looked up at her, and she finally saw the gossamer, eager, and enamored look glaze over her eyes. _Naive and dewy-eyed, like any normal teenager. A normal teenager in love._

Not even a few moments passed before she blurted out the answer to the unspoken question. “I won’t tell him.” 

Octavia held her eyes, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Thank you.”

“Be careful,” she insisted sternly, to which Octavia rolled her eyes. 

“I already have one overbearing parent. I don’t want another.”

They exchanged laughs. She wiped her hands on her thighs and moved to stand, but was stopped by a set of thin arms covering her chest and back. She leaned into Octavia’s embrace, as the girl rested her head on her shoulder. They stayed like that for a few moments before pulling away.

Octavia looked at her with something she’d never seen before. _Appreciation, affection. Maybe even friendship._

**__**

**PRESENT**

He huffs.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

On a log near the campfire, he anxiously wrung his hands, waiting for Clarke and Octavia to return. He heard the rustling of leaves and the shuffling of boots.

Smiling, and quietly exchanging parting words, the two girls ducked back under the fence. His sister caught his eye. The smile on her face faded, but her eyes were filled with understanding and apology. Octavia broke his gaze and walked over to her tent. He sighed in relief after she was safely inside.

She walked the other way to the Dropship. Before she ducked under the curtain, he called her name. She turned around with her arms crossed, an expectant look on her face. “Thanks."

She didn’t respond, just nodded her head, and receded into the ship.

Bellamy shifted back towards the unlit campfire, his mind still a bit hazy from anger and regret. He resigned himself to working all day, to shake the thoughts from his head.

Now, a rifle slung over his back, he paced the length of the gate on patrol. Ever since they dropped, Bellamy had fixed his face into one of fortitude and threat, figuring that the only way these idiot kids will listen is through fear. It complimented Clarke nicely– her empathetic, pragmatic leadership. 

_Clarke_. Though he felt as though the tension with Octavia had simmered, as evidenced by their mostly cordial interactions throughout the rest of the day, one question still lingered on his mind. _He asked her to go out of convenience, right? She was cleaning that shit from the fire off of him, she was just the first person he thought of. Maybe he asked just because, you know, it was a girl thing. Octavia wouldn’t want to interact with a guy after a fight with her brother._

He thought back to Clarke's understanding– even soothing– nods and hums that indicate when she's listening in any conversation. The way that her own face relaxed to dissolve any tension or fear in someone else’s eyes. And, the way her sensitivity was coupled with her realism, the rational side of her– how she didn’t explode with violent emotion, like he did. 

And, then, he got annoyed with himself for picking up on all her small habits.

**__**

**PRESENT**

“I didn’t know you noticed all of that."

“I noticed a lot of things. I noticed too much, too often.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

After a long day of overthinking on his patrol, Bellamy double checked the gates and the fence before retreating to his tent.

For a second night in a row, he paused before entering, glancing at the dim yellow light of her tent. Figuring he should thank her more appropriately for today, he sauntered over and pushed open the flap.

Clarke sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag, tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth, sketchbook in hand. Her shirt scrunched up a bit at the inward curve of her waist, and her legs, spotted with bruises unfurled outwards.

His eyes lingered a bit too long. Whatever. An attractive female body was still an attractive female body. Her head jerked up at the sudden noise, and she jumped a little.

“Jesus, Bellamy!” she half-yelled, pulling the sleeping bag over her legs. 

His mouth turned into a proud smirk at her reaction. He took a moment before shaking his head, remembering why he was there. He shifted uncomfortably.

“What do you want?”

“Sorry. I just wanted to– thank you. Thank you for helping Octavia today,” he blurted out, a bit awkwardly. “She seemed really happy after you guys talked. So, thanks."

They lapsed into silence for a bit before she responded.

“No problem. I was glad that we could spend some time together. I think we’ve now bonded over our mutual dislike of you."

He rolled his eyes but let out a breath, in relief that the painful apology was over. He sat down on the sleeping bag next to her, causing her to scrape her pencil across the page. She glared at him. 

“What are you drawing?” he asked nosily, shifting his weight to peek over her shoulder. 

She tugged the sketchbook away and held it to her chest. “None of your business.” 

“I'm in charge. Everything is my business." 

“Go float yourself.”

“Only if you’re right there with me, Princess.”

She paused, annoyed by his flirtation. He snatched her sketchbook from her. 

“Hey!”

Using one arm to push her away, he glanced down at the drawing. “Oh, shit.” 

She had sketched him and Octavia, nose-to-nose, likely from this morning. However, their eyes were less filled with anger, and more with a kind of heated dedication to one another, a promise that with each fight, each scream, each yell, each tear– they were still together. Still close. Instead of it being morning, thin dots filled the sky above them, small stars reflected in their eyes. The pencil strokes that drew his and O’s bodies were thick, urgent, and messy– but the swirling sky and stars behind them were thin, timid. Smooth and wispy.

She angrily snatched the book out of his hands. “Happy? Have you pissed me off enough for the day?” she snapped, throwing aside the sketchbook to the other side of her tent.

Bellamy, still a bit shocked by the intensity of the drawing, opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. Her gaze burned into his face.

“You’re... really good, Princess.” 

Her face flushed into a deep, wine red. “Thanks. Really funny.” 

“No.” He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s really good." 

She looked up to meet his eyes.

He’d known that her eyes were objectively nice looking. Everyone complimented their big blueness, or whatever. Looking into them right now, though, only a few inches from her face, he really saw it. Vulnerable, but intelligent. They held fire, and still, were startlingly blue, a kind of blue that you couldn’t find on a colorwheel. Her irises held intense sadness, hope. A frightening glimmer of hope. When she wrinkled her nose and an irritated breath left her mouth, he stopped, attempting to conceal how flustered he was.

He flicked her cheek. “You have dirt on your face.” 

“Ow!” Narrowing her eyes, she picked up her shirt from beside her sleeping bag and chucked it at his face. 

“ _Oof.”_ As it fell into his lap, he smirked. “Princess, if you wanted me to steal some of your clothes–” 

“Shut up, you idiot.” Her cheeks were still pink.

Thoroughly pleased with his ability to make her blush, Bellamy stood up. She met his gaze again with narrowed eyes.

“Goodnight, Princess. Don’t let the Grounders bite.” 

“Wait! What about my shirt?” Clarke questioned in exasperation.

Bellamy looked down and realized her shirt was still bundled in his fist.

“Oh.” He pretended to be surprised as he raised it to his face, inspecting it. “Yeah, I’ll keep this.”

And with that, he pushed the flap open and ducked out.

“Bellamy!”

Laughing quietly to himself, he made his way to his own tent. As he laid on his side in his sleeping bag, he stared at her wrinkled thermal on the ground next to him. He reached out, his fingertips touching the soft fabric.

 _What the hell was he doing?_ There were many discarded shirts in his tent, but he didn’t think hers would be one of them. Gathering it in his fist, he chucked it to the other side of the tent and flipped on his side. Trying to shake away thoughts of her, he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. That night, he dreamt about a drawing. But, in his dream, instead of him staring Octavia down, he found himself gazing into a set of deep blue eyes.

**__**

**PRESENT**

“Yeah. I was a goner.” 

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

A few days later, Monty and Jasper convinced Clarke, Finn, Octavia, and Bellamy to join them on a search for somewhere to bathe. They began by exploring the area just northeast of the camp. The six of them bickered as they ducked under tree branches and hopped over small holes in the ground, staying alert for any threats or sudden attacks.

They paired off. Clarke and Octavia had assumed a new kind of sisterhood, so, unfortunately, him and Finn found themselves as partners.

“No offense, guys,” Jasper said to him and Clarke. “But if I have to breathe in the scent of another teenage boy when I eat, when I sleep, _and_ when I’m trying to have alone time, I’m staging a coup to overthrow your leadership.” 

“Ew,” Octavia wrinkled her nose. “I don’t even want to know what your ‘alone time’ consists of.” 

“Ditto."

Bellamy watched on, warily. He was unsure if he should be frightened or pleased by his sister’s and Clarke’s new friendship. In many ways, their personalities grated against each other viciously– the Princess and the Girl Under the Floor. It really couldn’t get any more disparate. Still, ever since that day where he asked her to talk to Octavia, they’d spent way more time together. 

About thirty minutes into their search, the pairs split off and distanced themselves from each other. Monty and Jasper led the group, the two girls followed them a few feet behind, and him and Spacewalker took the rear.

Monty stopped to inspect a plant or flower on the ground. He bent forward to finger at a purple leaf, and Jasper nudged him, which caused Monty to fall flat on his ass, and caused Jasper to dissolve into a fit of cackles.

Despite his attempts to stay indifferent, his lips still tugged up at the sight of Monty and Jasper. _Happy, carefree._

Looking around at the looping vines stuck in between branches, the small light leaks on the ground as the sun poked in through the trees, and the tufts of grass underneath the steady clomp of their boots, he wondered if they will ever be able to enjoy the Earth as it is, instead of just surviving the constant stream of narrowly avoided deaths. Hearing a voice, his head turned to the left, where Finn stared at him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“I asked if you think we’ll be able to haul some of the water back. So we don’t have to walk miles to take baths, I mean.” 

Bellamy frowned at his lackluster small talk. “Fuck if I know. We have to find the water source, first.”

Finn nodded, clearly giving up at any sort of pleasant conversation.

He noticed that no matter which way they turned, what rocks they climbed over– Finn’s eyes were fixated on one thing. He followed his gaze to the blonde braid in front of them. He scoffed quietly.

Finn finally broke his gaze to look at him. “What?”

He shook his head, with a sarcastic smile. “If you think that our Princess has any time for your moon-eyed, romantic bullshit, you should just go find a Grounder now to put you out of your misery.”

Finn shook his head this time, and looked at Clarke again, eyes twinkling. “What if I told you that she already made time?” 

The words agitated Bellamy more than they should.

**__**

**PRESENT**

“Watch out, world. Here comes jealous Bell.”

His eyes shift downwards, a bit shameful. “Yeah. Here he comes.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

As they walked together, Clarke had to hold Octavia up, as she kept laughing when Jasper and Monty wrestled on the ground after Jasper stuffed leaves down Monty’s shirt. 

Though they had an unsettling start, ever since they spoke at the tree, Octavia now stayed in Clarke’s tent until well into the night, gossiping about Lincoln’s newest romantic gesture.

She laid on the ground in the Dropship while Octavia helped Raven, complaining about Bellamy, until Octavia went cross-eyed from how much they rolled. They went back to the tree and watched the stars, while they exchanged the stories about her dad and Octavia’s mom.

She discretely craned her head to make sure no one is in listening distance. “So,” she whispered into Octavia’s ear. “How's Lincoln?” 

Octavia beamed, as she always did when she mentioned Lincoln’s name. “He’s good. We kissed for the first time.”

She yelped, hand flying to her mouth. Octavia shushed her angrily and yanked her arm down. Monty and Jasper turned around and shot them a weird look, and she could feel Bellamy’s questioning glare on her back. 

“Shut up!” Octavia hissed.

“How was it?” 

Octavia sighed. “It was amazing. I thought my heart was going to explode. He didn’t make me feel embarrassed. And he was so gentle, like I was made of glass, or something. But his tongue was _really_ –”

“Okay. That’s enough information." 

“Have you had your first kiss on the ground?” Octavia made a seductive face and poked her in the ribs.

She looked back, glaring at Finn over her shoulder. He smiled sheepishly. Bellamy looked like he was frowning. 

Octavia followed her gaze. “Ew! My brother?” 

“What about me?” Bellamy overheard and sped up, falling to Octavia’s side.

She groaned. “No, O.” 

“O? Since when is she ‘O’ to you?” 

“Since you started being a tiger parent and she needed someone to actually listen to her.”

Octavia failed to stifle a laugh, and Finn chuckled as he fell into step with Clarke. She looked over at Finn and a wave of understanding swept over her face. 

“Oh. _Oh._ Bell, follow me, I need to complain about these boys who keep harassing me at camp,” Octavia tugged Bellamy away, not so subtly winking at her. 

“Wait, O–”

But, before she could protest, she dragged Bellamy ahead of them. She saw him look over his shoulder with an expression she couldn’t quite understand.

Finn laughed as he looked back down at her. But she refused to meet his gaze. 

“Clarke, you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

“I can try.” 

“Listen,” Finn stopped her, placing his hands on shoulders. “Can we call a truce? I just want you to stop being mad at me. I want to talk to you again. Just friends.”

She tried to keep her gaze on Bellamy and Octavia’s backs, but failed when she heard the small crack in Finn’s voice.

 _God, he hurt her. He hurt her a lot._ But she didn’t have anyone else who made her smile like Finn did.

She met his gaze, tempted by his hopeful, kind face. She sighed.

“Okay. Friends.” 

Finn beamed and bumped her shoulder with his. “Guess what? I found some willow twigs that we can dry to make charcoal for our resident artist."

Her mouth tugged up in excitement. “Really?” 

Finn nodded, his smile widening at the twinkle in her bright, blue eyes. 

“Really.” 

**__**

**PRESENT**

“'His hopeful and kind face'? Seriously?” 

She shrugs. “He was all I had. And he treated me well.”

“But, luckily,” she presses a kiss to his scowl. “I can see an even kinder face now. And more hopeful. And sexier.” 

He makes a sound of approval, and tugs her closer to him.

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

Beside him, Octavia rattled on about something her and Raven did. He tried listening to her, but all he could focus on was Clarke’s peals of laughter and Finn’s voice behind him. Bellamy fought the urge to turn around and glare at the kid by kicking every pebble on the ground.

“Bell? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Octavia snapped a finger in front of his face. 

“What were you and Clarke talking about?” he prodded, ignoring her question.

"Seriously? You’re mad about me having a friend?"

“No, it's not– it’s not that. Forget it."

Octavia muttered something along the lines of “grumpy bitch” before trouncing forward to join Monty and Jasper at the front of the group.

He was alone now, watching his sister and the two idiots in front of him, and hearing Clarke and Finn’s annoyingly loud laughter behind him.

Finally, after nearly two hours of walking, Jasper cheered. “Water, ho!”

They jogged up to meet the rest of the group. As she ran, she saw a glimmer of turquoise in the distance. When she reached them, they were on a shallow cliff, and her breath caught in her throat.

They all stood silently in awe. “Ho-ly shit,” Monty whispered. 

In front of them was the largest lake she had ever seen. And they had a whole unit on bodies of water in Earth Skills. It stretched so far that she could only barely see the end.

Below them was a spread of white sand, only darkening when it met the waves. The water was almost completely clear, and she immediately saw strands of glistening seaweed and shiny rocks under the water. Small branches littered the sand. Some kind of flower grew on them. Lavender? Other patches of iridescent flowers and plants were scattered among the beach.

“Let’s fucking goooooo!” Jasper howled, sliding down the cliffside. Him and Monty sprinted towards the water, hands grappling at their shirts to tug them off.

“Monty, Jasper, wait!” Clarke slid down after them, her shirt getting stuck on some sediment. “It could be dangerous!”

She barely had time to be panicked. Monty and Jasper were jumping around in the water, splashing each other and pushing each other down. Octavia slid down behind her. 

“Wow,” she breathed, her big eyes widening in wonder. 

She suddenly felt an overwhelming kind of joy at the sight of her friends– carefree, radiant. Happy. 

“Didn’t get this view under the floor?” 

Octavia tugged on her hand and sprinted after Monty and Jasper, and they almost tripped as their boots get stuck in the sand. As they reached the water, they hurried to tug off their clothes and shoes. The boys cheered as the two girls waded in together.

Clarke closed her eyes in contentment, the lukewarm water grazing her shoulders. She was surprised to feel that the water was particularly shallow, as she only had to dip a few inches below before her toes hit the soft floor of the lake. 

She laughed as Jasper and Monty tackled her and Octavia. They swept big waves over each other’s heads, and she felt warm arms wrap around her waist. Startled, she broke away and spun around to see Finn’s lopsided grin.

She narrowed her eyes. She tried to dunk him but failed, miserably. Instead, she just messed up his hair, making it stand up in all directions. In retaliation, he grabbed her by the waist and tossed her over his shoulder, before throwing her back into the water. She yelped before resurfacing. 

“For Clarke’s honor!” Jasper announced loudly, picking up a piece of seaweed and slapping Finn with it.

“For Clarke!” Monty echoed, wrapping his piece of seaweed around Finn’s chest to trap him.

“The Princess shall stay under our protection, forever!” Jasper bellowed as he and Monty tackled him.

Her and Octavia broke down into powerful fits of laughter, choking on the water. Grinning, she made a 360 to see all of her friends, mentally reminding herself to sketch this, later.

“Come on, Grandpa!” Octavia shouted.

Clarke turned her attention to the shore, realizing that Bellamy was just standing there, an amused look on his face.

“I’m okay. I’ll make sure none of the toddlers drown." 

Her and Octavia shared a look of quiet understanding, and they paddled their way to the shore. Bellamy started to understand what was about to happen, and tried to turn away, but he tumbled on the sand. Which was the perfect opportunity for them to emerge from the water. Grasping one arm in their hands, they pulled him towards the water before finally pushing him in with a loud _smack._

He didn’t really need to resurface, mostly because he was much taller than the water, but he glared up at them with damp, curly hair now plastered all over his forehead. Her eyes widened.

“Wow... I mean, I know how people make jokes about how you look when you’re wet, but you _actually_ look like a drowned rat now.”

“That’s it.” Bellamy stomped up to her and Octavia. 

“No!” 

He hauled both girls over each of his shoulders. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed at the fact that he was holding her half-naked body with one hand before he retreated into the water and threw them both in. 

She laughed as she resurfaced, while Octavia erupted in a massive pout. 

“He reigns!” Jasper yelled.

Bellamy grinned widely, and her heart warmed as the water seemed to darken his freckles; she had never seen him with such unfiltered, undiluted happiness on his face.

Bellamy, Monty, and Jasper formed an alliance, dumping handfuls of water on her and Octavia’s head. Finn tickled her side and she shrieked, moving to hide behind Bellamy.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll protect you." He winked. Fat droplets of water dripped off her eyelashes when she rolled her eyes. 

Finn tried to sidestep him, but his wide frame simply blocked him. He shook out his hair and Bellamy sputtered as the water got in his eyes. “What the hell?”

“I’m on it!” Octavia flicked a large piece of seaweed at Finn’s back. Her, Monty, and Jasper continued their assault on the amused boy. 

Still behind Bellamy, she poked the side of his ribs. He frowned and turned over his shoulder. She ducked and poked the other side of his chest.

“Princess. Dangerous game.” 

He turned around to face her, but she dipped under and swam behind him. He laughed and swiveled around too quickly for her to dive away. She frantically paddled backwards to escape him. The attempt was futile, as he literally just walked through the water. 

He reached out a hand and tried to grab her shoulder, but she twisted out of the way, wading further out into the water. Bellamy rolled his eyes and strolled casually towards her.

“No fair. Uneven height advantage!” She tried to swim away, but he grabbed her waist with two hands and jerked her towards him. She let out a small yelp while he smugly looked at her.

“I win.” 

“This wasn’t a game. This was just underwater practice of me trying to avoid you at the campsite.” 

“Pouting is for children,” he remarked, pulling her bottom lip down with his thumb. Her breath caught in her throat, finally feeling how close they were. 

They were in the middle of the lake, a few meters from the rest of the group. He had pulled her flush against his chest, his abdomen pressing against her stomach. Being a whole head taller than her, the water from his curls dripped down onto her forehead as he stared down at her. She could feel the callouses on his fingers, as his left hand ghosted the inward curve of her waist, and his thumb lingered on her lips for a moment.

Time seemed to still as he ran his thumb down to her chin and across her jaw. She tried, but couldn't look away from his dark, dilated pupils; he unfolded his fingers as he softly gripped the right side of her jaw. He leaned down, the tip of his nose barely touching the bridge of hers.

“Clarke! Bell! We’re playing chicken!” Octavia’s voice echoed through the air. 

The yell ripped them apart, and they stared at each other for a moment, chests heaving, before they straightened.

“Coming!” 

**__**

**PRESENT**

“If only I just leaned up a bit higher… we would’ve saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”

Bellamy frowns. “You make it seem like I didn’t want to kiss you.”

She shrugs with a half-smile. “I didn’t know if you just wanted a quick fuck back then.”

“Have you heard a word of what I just said for the last few hours?” 

“I wasn’t sure! I literally found you in bed with Raven a few days before that!”

He looks down, guilt-ridden and embarrassed.

“Can I at least tell you my side?”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

After the sun sank too low in the sky, he urged the group back to the shore so they could head home.

Clarke quickly penciled a hasty map of their coordinates on a piece of cloth so that they could return later. As her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth, just as it did when she drew, he realized that the speed in which a smile immediately spread on his face was... not normal. 

They paired off again, making the trek back to camp. Him and Spacewalker followed the girls once again, and he couldn’t help but stare at the wet strands of hair that stuck to her back. 

The last few hours really, really tested his patience. 

When he saw her strip, he really tried to turn away, but couldn’t help peeking at her body, all soft edges and curves, all silvery white (except for the purplish bruises). He shook the thoughts away. 

When he saw his friends splash around in the water with loud laughs, he couldn’t help but smile. He inched forward to stand at the edge of the shore, arms crossed– he figured that someone should keep watch. Plus, he doesn’t know how much willpower he’d have around a half-naked woman. 

That is quickly answered after they pull him into the water. He remembers growling at their hysterical laughter, and resented the fact that, according to Clarke, he did not look sexy when wet. Well, he was too far gone now.

And, he was actually... happy. He laughed as him, Monty, and Jasper dumped yet another handful of water over O’s head, or when they whipped Finn with a strand of seaweed. 

Bellamy felt a surge of pride after she scrambled behind him to escape Finn. He knew it wasn’t that deep, but it still stroked his ego. 

_That’s– that was when things got really bad._

As O and the boys tugged Finn away, he felt a small poke on his ribs. Laughing, he tried to catch the blonde, but she evaded his grasp, poking the other side of his chest and diving underwater. He finally forced her into the middle of the lake before growing frustrated. A pout formed on her lips, and that was the last straw.

He grabbed her by the waist and jerked her towards him. He reached and tugged on her lower lip, smirking at the way her body tensed, and the way a deep blush flooded her cheeks. But then– he made the mistake of staring down into her eyes.

Her eyelashes were dark and wet, nesting small drops of water. Her braid had fallen out during their scuffle, and the strands of hair ran down her shoulders and her chest. As she stared up at him, his thumb reverently traced the length of her jaw, unable to look away. He started to tilt his face towards hers, feeling her eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. Then, suddenly, he felt her absence all at once.

“Clarke! Bell!” Octavia’s voice broke them apart, and he leaned his head back and let out a quiet groan. 

She had scooted a few feet back, but he relished in the scarlet flush of her face, the rapid heaving of her chest, and the dazed, electrified look in her eyes.

"Coming!"

And now, as he hiked back to camp with Spacewalker next to him, he clenched his fists so hard that they became white. He wondered if Finn was telling the truth earlier. If he really knew what those lips felt like.

**__**

**PRESENT**

“For the record, you’re really sexy when you’re wet. I was in denial.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

Clarke struggled to suppress her flustered disposition as she walked back to camp with Octavia. Luckily, the girl ranted like no other, so she just smiled and nodded while she spoke about how they had to revisit the lake for her birthday. 

She couldn't stop thinking about how she was so close to Bellamy. So close that she could count his freckles one by one. Or the fact that he seemed to _want_ her, the look of longing in his eyes. _When did they go from hating each other, to being friends?_ She thought back to the uneasy feeling in her stomach when she walked in on him and Raven, and how he still has her shirt somewhere. She was growing too attached to him, and she wasn’t ready for another Finn. 

_Finn_. The other boy walking behind her. She thought about the way his fresh-faced smile once spurred butterflies in her stomach, and the way he touched her body, eyes wide with reverence in the bunker. What she felt for him left her raw. Stricken. 

And it's not the way that her and Bellamy’s relationship felt. She didn’t care much when she saw girls exiting his tent, or when he leaned against the fence with one arm, flirting with Roma. But when she saw him and Raven– an agitated feeling sparked in her stomach. 

A saving grace from her own thoughts, Monty and Jasper pushed open the gate with a resounding, “Home, sweet home!”

Suddenly, her heart ached at the words, with a longing to see Wells again.

She missed him more than life itself, it seemed. She missed their uncomplicated, easygoing friendship– well, before he lied about being the one who sold out her father. But even when they fought, she felt safe around him.

And that’s much more than she can say for Bellamy, orFinn, right now.

**__**

**PRESENT**

“That makes me sad.”

“Can you blame me? Especially for what happens next?”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

That night, her and the rest of the gang lounged on the ground of the Dropship. Bellamy had just finished the nightly meeting, reminding them all that if they wanted to survive, each of them had to play their part. 

That lecture was particularly biting– when they returned from the lake earlier, they found out that a group of kids accidentally burned a large portion of their rations when one of them forgot to tend to the campfire. The meeting ended on a happier note, though, with Monty and Jasper eagerly announcing that they found 'the sickest beach' for everyone to bathe in. 

Clarke leaned against a medicine cabinet with Octavia’s head in her lap. Monty and Jasper laid face down in hammocks, a bit high from a plant that Monty figured out has the same effect as their chosen green in space. Finn sat on the cabinet above her. All tired, but content from today’s activities.

Bellamy excluded. He was pacing the length of the Dropship’s entrance. “Okay. So, we can use the lake as an incentive. Whoever finishes their jobs early and adequately can have the first shot at the beach’s coordinates. After everyone knows about it, we can send out groups of five every other day to gather materials– the sand would be good for buffering the fence. We can use the seaweed for food. The seashells can be made into bowls and jars. And–”

“Jesus Christ, big brother! Can you just relax? The beach isn’t going anywhere. We have time. All of us are tired.” She shifted her head in Clarke’s lap to face him. 

“There’s no _time_ to relax!” Bellamy shouted, startling everyone. Jasper jerked and fell out of the hammock, rubbing his head in confusion. 

“What the hell, man?” Finn muttered, his knuckles gripping the edge of the cabinet a bit harder.

She jumped at the intensity of his voice. Octavia tensed. Annoyed that he made Octavia unhappy–again–her eyes shot up. “What the hell is your problem, Bellamy?” 

He looked at her, irritation in his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, Princess, not all of us can prance around with the butterflies like you and O."

She swelled with anger, but Finn leaned down to rest his large palm on her shoulder. Seeing that, Bellamy scoffed loudly.

“Calm down, dude,” Finn urged, rubbing her shoulder and looking down at Octavia in concern. 

“Of course. Spacewalker comes to the Princess’ rescue.”

Monty and Jasper, obviously uncomfortable, began to creep out of the room. “We’re gonna head to bed, guys. Night!" Jasper half-waved and they scurried out. 

“What’s wrong, man? We had a great day. Don’t ruin it,” Finn insisted as softly as he could. She reeled back a bit as Bellamy seethed, his chest heaving up and down. 

“We had a great day?” He stalked over to Finn and got in his face. “Maybe youhad fun frolicking with the Princess, but someone needs to stay alert so that the Grounders don’t come and gut all of us." 

She frowned at him bringing up her name. She didn’t bother responding, though, after she realized that Octavia was shaking a bit in her lap; she tried soothing her by smoothing down her hair.

“They are savages!” He yelled in Finn’s face. “They will kill us all, while you’re all dicking around on a beach!” 

That did it for Octavia. She pulled herself from her lap and shot up, her face twisted with desperate anger.

“They’re not all like that, Bell! If you stopped trying to shoot them all on sight, maybe we could have an alliance!”

He laughs humorlessly. “O, you are completely deluded if you think those people want anything to do with us. You’re still so naive! You might as well still be under the floorboards!" 

She winced as Octavia grew quiet. She saw angry tears running down the teenager’s face. 

Octavia slowly approached Bellamy. “Fuck you, Bell.” She pushed the curtain open, and left.

He swallowed without a response. Clarke looked up at Finn. He seemed to understand, squeezing her shoulder before standing up. “I’ll go make sure she’s okay.”

Before he left, he shot her a look– _be careful_ – to which she nodded.

Silence overtook the small space. Bellamy was frozen, staring at the space on the ground where Octavia was just a few seconds ago. She noticed that his breathing had slowed, and an anguished look had made its way onto his face.

She brought her knees up, resting her cheek on them, waiting for him to say something. After an uncomfortable ten minutes passed, she decided that he was completely shut off. She stood up and made her way to the curtain, walking around him and putting as much space as she could between them. As soon as she was about to push open the curtain, she heard the heartbreaking crack of his usually gruff voice.

“It was today.”

She stopped, somehow knowing exactly what he meant. “What was?” 

“Today was the day she was floated. A year ago.” 

“How do you know?”

“It was twenty-one days from the day we dropped. It's been three weeks. I’ve counted.” He sank to the floor, right where she was against the medicine cabinet. His head fell between his knees.

She crouched in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Bellamy.” 

“It’s stupid,” he scratched the side of his head. “She was no mother of the year. I really thought she loved Octavia and me. Why else would she sleep with all those members of the Guard, right? To keep us safe for all those years.” She placed a placating hand on his knee.

“But I thought back to when Octavia was born– _your sister, your responsibility_ ,” he mocked, shaking his head. “She didn’t care. She didn’t want Octavia at all. She doesn’t know about today. Seeing her so happy, in that stupid lake,” he smiled sadly. “She deserves better.”

“It must be especially hard this time, since we’re on the ground, and everything."

He looked up at her with that same, sad smile. She blinked at the sight of his wet cheeks. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t hard, at first. I’ve never seen her smile like she did today. She was so carefree. So happy. With you.”

“It was fine until those _idiots_ –” he hissed, his face blooming a faint red. “Until those kids wasted all of those rations. We needed those rations. Octavia and I would’ve _killed_ for those rations growing up." She thought back to the steady stream of ration packs she had growing up, and felt a wave of guilt roll over her.

“We hiked for four hours today, to find a place for everyone to use. And we come back, and they don’t give a shit! If we didn’t spend so much time in the lake, I could’ve prevented that. I’m too old to be playing chicken with a bunch of teenagers. I need to make sure everyone here stays alive.” 

“Well... at least we won every round of chicken against Octavia and Finn. Monty and Jasper too."

The corners of his mouth tugged up. “The Princess has jokes.”

She smiled, crossing her arms over his knees and resting her chin on them. "Bellamy– you can’t take care of everyone.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she kept going.

"You took care of Octavia for her whole life– you raised her into a beautiful, fierce, stubborn, and occasionally aggravating woman. 

“But you can’t do that with everyone. You’re already doing everything you can to keep us alive. I mean, _you’re_ the reason we’re all still alive. You kept us together. You inspire people.

“You’re right, those kids are idiots. But we’re all idiots, here– no one knows what the hell we’re doing. But look how fast we found a solution. How _you_ found a solution. We have that algae you mentioned, the one Monty found. And you thought of the seaweed.

“You’re the leader we need. But you can’t lead if you’re too busy punishing yourself.”

She looked at him, hard, with a reassuring look in her eyes. His face relaxed. They stayed that way for a few minutes.

Suddenly, his knees dropped and she felt him pull her into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around her waist, and she smiled against his shoulder, as his hand tightly gripped the back of her braid. She eventually snaked her arms around his neck. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. She just smiled back, wiping away one of his tears with her thumb.

She got up and walked to the curtain. “Come on. It's late."

“Clarke.” 

“Hm?” She turned around and found him right behind her, staring intensely. Their noses barely brushed against each other. 

He didn’t answer. He just raised his right hand and cupped her face, before bringing his lips down to hers. 

She froze. His lips still salty from the tears, he kissed her gently, threading his fingers through her hair and back to her neck. He pulled her tighter against him, and she finally found the courage to move her mouth against his. And they tangled together seamlessly. But before she could open her mouth into it, he pulled away a bit dazed, shaking his head.

“Goodnight.” He brushed past her and ducked through the curtain.

**__**

**PRESENT**

“If only that kiss solved everything."

“I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry."

“I know.” She holds him against her chest, using her left hand to press his head down.

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

He couldn’t sleep. 

The stars peeked through the hole in the roof of his tent, and he tried to count each one to help him fall asleep. It didn’t work. His mind worked overtime.

Guilt rippled through his head as he thought back to the way he snapped at Octavia. Shame throbbed in his skull when he remembered the discomfort on Monty and Jasper’s faces. Irrational anger pulsed through his veins when he recalled how Finn touched Clarke, and how he went after Octavia. And, worst of all, fear flashed in front of his eyes– images of his mother dissolving into space, of Octavia being pulled away from him by the Guard, of her dying... of _all_ of them dying.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Today had been exhausting. Feeling freedom with his friends. Screaming at stupid kids. Stupidly screaming at his own sister. Crying in Clarke’s arms. Almost kissing Clarke, then actually kissing Clarke. 

She made him feel at ease. Like she understood, listened to him. But he wished she didn’t see through him so easily. He didn’t want to be seen. 

He longed to travel the five feet over to her tent and rest his head in her lap. He knew sleep would come easy if he could hold her, draw her closer to him. But what they had before he complicated things, worked. And he didn’t know if he could handle another loss.

So he got up. And walked to her tent. 

**__**

**PRESENT**

  
She cringes.

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

She woke up the next morning, still a bit disoriented from yesterday’s events. It felt much like the soap operas she and Wells watched on the Ark, now that she thought back to it. It made her laugh to herself. But then she remembered how Bellamy actually felt in that moment. It felt like he was desperate, acting in the heat of the moment. Needing a warm body after a hard day. 

She pushed open her tent and ran her eyes over the kids scattered throughout the camp. Today, they needed to figure out how to organize and schedule lake trips for everyone else in camp. She heard soprano laughter to her right. Looking over, she saw a familiar brunette exit Bellamy’s tent.

He followed closely behind her, holding her hand. He smiled down at her. Like the way he smiled at her last night.

Roma kissed his cheek before heading off to her shift. He exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. She cleared her throat. His head flicked over.

She nodded stiffly. "Hey." 

"Good morning." He shifted uncomfortably, an odd look on his face. 

_Choose your battles_. Gripping the map she sketched yesterday, she made her way over to him.

“Here’s what I was thinking," she held out the map so they could both see it. “If we trace a line from the beach back to camp, there’s actually a faster way to get to the lake. Instead of wrapping around like we did yesterday,” she used the pencil to sketch an arrow between the two points. “We can actually cut the travel time in half by clearing this path.” 

Bellamy made a noise of agreement. She ignored the heat emanating off his body and shuffled further away. He seemed to notice, hurt appearing on his face. 

“Clarke–” 

She folded the map and tucked it in her pocket. “Don’t. Let’s just focus on how we’ll integrate the lake trips into everyday life. Good?”

She wasn’t about to be _Finn-_ ed, again. There wasn’t time for that. He just nodded, jaw clenching.

She spun on her heel to look for Octavia.  
  


Later, Bellamy dropped another wooden plank at Monty’s feet. Him and Jasper were helping Monty construct the base for an algae and seaweed farm.

The three kneeled on the ground just outside of the fence. Monty arranged the logs to resemble a kind of raised flat, shoveling in piles of dirt with space for water. Jasper threaded plant fibers into thick twine to tie the wooden pieces together, and he used a hunting knife to strip and carve logs into thinner planks for Monty.

At first, they worked in silence, a certain kind of awkwardness still lingering from the night before. Eventually, Monty threw a wood scrap at Jasper when he whipped Monty with a piece of his rope. Bellamy laughed quietly, and the other two relaxed, the tension dissolving into the air. 

His thumb harshly gripped the knife that sheared the rough surface of the oakwood. He was such a _fucking_ idiot. _Why did he even go to Roma's tent_? Last night, he didn’t have a single desire to be with anyone. Except for a blonde with a sketchbook a tent away from him. 

Frustrated with himself, he dropped the knife and the plank on the ground with a resounding _'ugh.'_

Monty and Jasper looked up, with wide eyes. “Oh god. Are we to bear witness to another infamous meltdown?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, recognizing his playful tone. He leaned back against a tree trunk, arms crossed. "If you guys kissed a girl, and then went and had sex another girl right after, what would you do? Or, like, if you did, why would you do it?” he blurted out, trying to be as vague as he could.

Monty’s eyebrows raised. “Jeez. We knew you’re a hot commodity, but two girls in one night? Right after one another? Impressive.”

Jasper hummed in approval and they both held up a hand for Bellamy to five. He ignored them and they dropped them with a grumble. 

“I never said it was me." 

Monty and Jasper stared expectantly. 

He sighed. “It’s not like that.” 

They waited. 

“It’s like… what if you were too… distracted by one girl? So you went… to the other?” 

They were silent. 

After a few seconds, Jasper started laughing. He tumbled over and clutched his stomach. Monty just shook his head. 

“What?” he snapped, glaring at Jasper.

“It sounds like you already know why you did it, dude,” Monty conceded, a sheepish look on his face.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jasper finally managed to sit back up. “You were definitely trying to get over the first chick. The kiss clearly meant something to you, so you thought you could just fuck it away. You like the first girl. Duh.”

“I don’t feel a thing for the first girl, Jasper.

_Liar._

“Actually, it's pretty clear that you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be concerned or asking us about this in the first place. You haven’t bat an eye for the many- and I mean, like, _many_ girls that you’ve hooked up with since we dropped. But you seem to care for the first girl. You know that sleeping with that other chick was a shitty thing to do. Wait, now that I’m thinking about it, that’s super fucked up. You’re a dick."

“I fucking knew that, Jasper.”

“Moreover, suddenly, you’re resorting to the ‘bro’ approach? Not that Jonty isn’t the perfect pair for wise and prudent advice, but you would literally die before you ask other people for help, dude,” Jasper pointed out. 

“And that probably lends itself to the fact that you grew up without any help, at all. You’ve learned to trust only yourself. So, opening yourself up to advice would require a kind of vulnerability that the chip on your shoulder refuses to surrender itself too. You're constantly battling this push and pull between wanting to ask for help, but not wanting to get burned again." He shrugged.

Monty looks at him with wide eyes. “Nice, dude.” They hold out one hand to high five each other, but Jasper continues to stare him. 

“But seriously… that was a dick move. Like, your psyche must be really fucked _up_ for you to do those two girls so dirty. And that’s saying a lot, especially from you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Bellamy stood up, fury written across his face.

“I mean, like, your track record with women isn’t…” 

“O-kay Jasper, that’s enough advice!” Monty moved to Jasper’s side, patting his shoulder and looking at him apologetically. 

He just stared back, warily. 

“Then again… ” Jasper narrowed his eyes. “This first girl seems to be worth your inner emo bar fight.” He squinted at him.

Then, his face twisted into a scarily childish grin. “So…” 

Bellamy groaned. 

“Who is she?”

“No one you know." He picked up the knife and log to continue his work.

“Uh, dude, I hate to break it to you, but…” Monty gestured to the camp behind them. “It’s literally impossible for us to _not_ know either of these girls.” 

“Forget it. Let’s just finish this damn algae farm.”

Monty frowns. “Do not speak the algae farm’s name in vain.” 

“Why do I hang out with you guys?”

Jasper shuffled to his side and nudged his shoulder. “Who is it?” Monty followed suit, going to his other shoulder. 

“Who is it? Who is it?” They started to chant together. 

Bellamy tried to get up and leave, but each boy pulled him back down. 

“Is she cute?”

“Does she have a nice ass?”

“Is she smart? 

“Is she cool with smoking?”

“What are her thoughts on moral relativism?”

“Black hair?” 

“No, Jas, Bellamy has a type.”

“Brunette?”

“Brunette!” 

“Thin.”

“Annoying voice.”

“Clarke isn’t even my _type_ , you idiots!” Wide-eyed at his outburst, he sighed, covering his face with his hand. 

Jasper and Monty looked at each other incredulously.

“Ho.”

“Ly.”

“Shit!” They burst out laughing for a few seconds, before immediately sobering up.

“Wait a minute. You did that shit to Clarke? Fearless leader, caring, badass, obnoxiously selfless Clarke Griffin?” Jasper shook his head. “That’s not cool, dude.”

Monty’s face turned distrustful. “Seriously, man. She’s done so much for us. And she’s way nicer to you than you deserve. Like, this is fucked up to do to any girl, but that is especially bad.”

He threw his hands up. "You think I don’t know that?”

The two boys looked hesitant.

"Look, I know, okay? I just–it’s–like, all of those things you just said. She’s too nice _._ And clearly, I can’t go a day without hurting a nice girl.”

“Then… why did you kiss her?” Monty asked, slowly.

“I– I don’t know. I was really sad. And she’s just a good listener. And she’s been taking care of Octavia, on top of all of her responsibilities."

Monty nodded condescendingly. "Right"

“So… you _used_ her to make her happier when you were sad _after_ you yelled at all of us?” Jasper stood up and narrowed his eyes.

He blinks, not realizing that these two were capable of having anything else but goofy grins on their faces.

“No! I… wanted to. Kiss her. I’ve been wanting to kiss her for a few days, now. It was just horrible timing.”

“So, you…” Jasper started.

“I…” 

“You…” Monty prompted. 

“I…” Bellamy sighed. “I like her.”

“You like her,” Monty and Jasper said in unison. 

Silence descends on the three.

A slow, stupid grin grew on Jasper’s face. “It’s a miracle! The Rebel King has found his Queen! Or, uh, Princess.”

Monty and Jasper cheered with a joyous high-five. “Young love,” Monty sighed, clapping Jasper on the shoulder. Jasper hummed in agreement.

Bellamy rubbed a hand over his face. “God…” 

“Okay, seriously, though,” Monty’s smile dropped. “You need to apologize to her. You really fucked up.” 

“She’s probably really hurt by it."

"I know. You’re right. How do I even begin?” 

Jasper shrugged. “That’s on you, my man. You need to un-fuck things up.” 

Bellamy frowned at his phrasing. “Okay,” he took a deep breath. “Can you guys, not–” 

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with Jonty."

They high fived. Again. 

“Whatever. Can we please finish this?” He pauses. "Also, what the hell is a ‘Jonty’?”

**__**

**PRESENT**

Clarke smiles at Monty and Jasper’s constant quips, despite it all.

“Do we really have to talk about the next part?” 

“You can’t just avoid the shitty parts in our relationship, Bell. It wasn’t perfect. It was completely awful, sometimes. But it was so, so worth it. What will we tell our kids? And– and besides, _you_ wanted to tell this whole story in the first place!”

Bellamy is quiet. “Kids?” 

She groans, burying her face in her hands. “Whatever,” she mumbles quietly.

He pulls her hands away and hovers over her with a brilliant, glowing smile. "Really?”

“I mean, yeah,” she responds softly, her mouth twitching up. “I told you. You’re it for me. I’m all in." 

Bellamy breathes a laugh and beams. “All in. I’m all in.” He flops back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling in awe.

She frowns, propping herself up on her elbow. "Bellamy? Did I break you?” 

Suddenly, she’s pulled off the bed and her legs are in the air. “You want kids with me?” He grins, spinning her around. 

“I’m assuming you know the answer, since I’m currently hovering a few feet above the ground.” 

His peals of laughter echo around the room. He puts her down and cups her face in his hands. “I want a daughter. A tiny Clarke. Or a few tiny Clarke’s?”

“Slow down. Let’s see if we can make the first one happen. I will try to tell my body that you desperately need a girl.”

He looks down to her stomach. “Little embryo. You must do this for me."

“I’m pretty sure that only works when the embryo is actually in there.” 

He shrugs and pulls her back into bed, so that they’re facing each other. He takes a deep breath.

“You’re right. I need to stop avoiding the past. Avoiding it all,” he nods, searching her eyes. “I just, whenever I remember how much pain I caused…I can’t imagine ever hurting you that badly ever again.”

“And you won't."

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

A few nights later, Clarke and Finn sat on a log bench in front of the fire. They huddled close against the cold. 

She had her sketchbook in her hands, using a new piece of charcoal that Finn carved for her to draw a picture of Octavia. She decided to capture the time where she twirled in the butterfly field. Her head was thrown back with a stunning smile on her face, hair cascading to her waist, as a sapphire set of wings perches on the bridge of her nose.

After Bellamy yelled at her yesterday night, Octavia was feeling resentful. But, now, she knew her well enough to see the heartache that lingers behind her steely eyes; she was planning on telling him about Lincoln, but that argument made her realize that he’d never see him as anything else as a “savage.”

Clarke's chest stung for her. Octavia had never experienced love before. At least, not that kind of love. And it seemed like the only other boy that she loves as much, doesn’t care, at all. Intent on making her feel better, she sketched with care. She stole some blue flowers from Monty to test out making pigments to color the butterfly. 

Admittedly, being with Finn made her feel better. The temporary hurt of being Bellamy’s warm body subsided. She looked around the camp, waiting for him. They decided to meet to discuss the plans for the lake at dusk. She heard the familiar clomp of boots and looked up. Bellamy hovered over her and Finn.

“Hey."

  
**__**

**PRESENT**

His body goes rigid, a pained look in his eyes. 

“It’s okay. You can do it.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

He took a deep breath in his tent. _Y_ _ou can do this._

Him and Clarke had decided that they’d meet after dinner to discuss his plans for the lake. He’d been working on his apology for a few days, which was an agonizing process, as he never really apologized for... anything. First, he would thank her for being there for him when he was upset. And he would reassure her that he wasn’t using her or looking for a pity fuck, or something. He would tell her that he actually wanted to kiss–

 _Nope. Too soon_. He would apologize for taking advantage of her in that situation, and, finally, he would explain that what he did with Roma was super fucked up. And that he cared about her, and wanted to make sure that they could continue to become friends. Taking one last, deep inhale, he pushed himself out of the tent, and looked up.

And every nerve in his body began to sting. Spacewalker and Clarke were cuddling on the bench. He knew he shouldn’t be this aggravated at the sight of them huddled together. But– he couldn’t help but wonder. She looked so flustered when he’d flirted with her in her tent. And he saw that her eyes couldn’t stop wandering over him at the lake. And he noticed that she tried to deepen the kiss before he pulled away in the Dropship. And how she held him, and ran her hand through his curls, and stroked his face. It all seemed so natural. Like they fit together, just right. 

_Who was he even kidding? Jasper was right. She was too good. Too good for him. He went from being a total asshole for a week since they dropped, to being unusually attached to her._

_No wonder she thought that he was using her. She just came out of nowhere. A tropical storm without the sirens, the loud crack of a firework that’s set off by accident, the violent tremors on the Ark after a particularly brutal sunflare. And he didn’t know why it happened. It just did._

But then… there was that moment where Roma left his tent. Maybe it wasn’t all heartbreak, but there was something in her gaze that made him blink twice. A venomous thought flooded his mind.

_Of course. It was payback. Spacewalker was pissed that he’d slept with Raven. So he’s getting back at him with her. And she's just going along with it._

And then, an odd cocktail of emotions swirled inside of him. There was irritation, at himself, for being an asshole to two girls at once. Desperation, too, just needing to know why he wanted her. Frustration that Octavia was still mad at him. Envy that she went to Clarke for her issues now, and not him. Lingering resentment for those kids who stole the rations. Annoyance that Monty and Jasper wrestled the truth out of him, called him an idiot. And an asshole. Disappointment, because he knew that they were right. Bitter that she felt comfortable cozying up to Spacewalker. A stick of dynamite that just needed the flick of a match.

He scoffed at himself. _He wasn’t a teenager anymore. But he really was acting like one._ This ugly thing coiled inside of him, and he couldn’t focus on what it was, with the overwhelming stream of immature thoughts flooding his head.

“Bellamy?” 

He realized that he was standing right in front of them. He looked from Finn, to her. He jerked his chin up in response. She frowned for a second, but quickly recovered and flipped through her sketchbook to the layout of the lake, with a teasing smile. “Ready to talk bathtime?”

And his anger was almost blinked away. But it wasn't. “Is he staying?”

“I don’t see why I ca–” Finn started, but she gently placed a hand on his forearm.

“It’s okay. It might be better that Bellamy and I figure it out on our own. So nobody thinks we have any kind of favoritism.” 

_Fuck off, asshole._

Finn’s eyes flickered between her calm face, and his unfeeling one. “Okay. Stay warm."

“Get some rest.” He nodded and retreated to his tent.

She looked up at him and patted the spot next to her. He didn’t move, staring at the ground.

She blinks. “O-kay then. So, there’s ninety-one of us. I figure that everyone can get two trips to the lake per week, in groups of five to eight. They can choose their own groups, I know some of the younger kids feel safer with the older girls. And, maybe–” 

And then, the coil snapped. “Should I be worried? Will I get mono?”

He was disoriented for a few moments, in his own disbelief.

“I’m– I’m sorry?” 

“Spacewalker’s lips seem a bit worse for wear. Since you two are fucking, maybe I should be worried about that kiss yesterday. After all, your mouth has been on his–” 

“You better not finish that sentence, Bellamy,” she muttered, a deadly look in her eyes.

“Did I offend the Princess? Maybe if you could’ve warned me that your mouth gets more action than a–” 

He was silenced by a loud _crack._

His head snapped to the left, a redness blooming on his cheek. _Damn. He deserved that._

“Are you seriously talking to me about my sex life? You? I’m pretty sure not all the medicinal plants in the world could treat the amount of girls that now have chlamydia on the Ground because of you." 

He faltered, a startled look on his face. “What is wrong with you these days? You’ve been acting like a child. Yelling at everyone for no reason, having sex with every girl you see, and thenkissing me. And now, you’re screaming at me? That I should give you a warning? You kissed _me_! I was the one who had no warning! You’ve been an asshole from the moment we dropped, but now," she shakes her head, clearly disappointed. "You’re just being cruel.”

_She was right. She was right about everything._

“You’re hurting too many people for no reason. Fine, Bellamy. Do it. Do ‘whatever the hell you want’ to me. But to Monty and Jasper? To Octavia? Your sister?” 

"Don’t bring her into this, Princess,” he snarled, advancing on her slightly.

“Bring her into this?" She threw her hands up exasperatedly. “She’s the one you’re hurting the most! Do you know how many times I’ve held her in my lap as she cried in the past few days? Because she didn’t know why you were angry at her? Or ignoring her? Why you wanted to pick a fight with her at the end of every hour? She’s in pain,Bellamy!”

He pushes away the tendrils of guilt that tug at him. “What the fuck do you know about pain, Princess? You’ve never known pain. You have everything.”

He was lying. He knew that she understands pain. Profound, bottomless pain. He saw it when she talked about her father. When she found Wells’ body– her devastated cries haunted the entire camp that night. But, the words and sentences kept unraveling, strings of poison, hurling from his mouth like spears.

Her hand rose in the air again, but he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pressing viciously into her veins. She yanked it down and shoved him hard, her eyes dark. “Touch me again, and we’ll have a problem."

As she rubbed her wrist, a flash of nausea stung her. Memories of embers and iron flashed in front of her eyes. Before she could process them, they were gone.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady herself. But what he said next made her deflate. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave that to him.” 

So, she surrendered. Her resolve seemed to crack as the last of her energy fizzled out. Tears welled up in her eyes as the physical and emotional exhaustion wracked through her body. She collapsed back on the log and glanced at her wrist, a small bruise forming across the bone.

“Clarke, I–”

“I’m tired. We can revisit the plans tomorrow." Her voice was small, and she seemed out of breath. He watched as she gathered herself and stumbled back to her tent. 

Slightly shaky, he sat on the log and held his head in his hands. _What the fuck was going on with him?_ That fury, the screaming, the way he grabbed her wrist–

He shuddered.

It was envy of a relationship he’d never know. Jealousy that she managed to make Octavia open up in a week, while it took him years. Envy of the fact that despite all of this– his ego, his volatile anger, his cruelty– that she could still smile at him, try to repair their relationship. He smothered the fire.

Before he turned to leave, he saw a streak of blue on the ground. As he kneeled down, he saw a breathtaking illustration of his sister, hair drawn with thick ashy lines. Smudges of pale blue color the butterfly on her nose. The pencilling of her smile rivaled the beauty, in real time.

_Fuck._

**__**

**PRESENT**

“Bellamy?” She shakes his shoulder. “Talk to me.” 

He laughs inwardly. _The most Clarke thing– being concerned about him during a moment like this._

“God, Clarke. I am so, so sorry.” 

She shuffles over to lay her head on his chest. "It's okay."

They’d discussed that night many times over the years, of course. But this was the first time that he came to terms with it being a part of this story. Their story. 

“I will never, ever be that man again. I will never hurt you." He pauses. “Or our children that way.”

"I know. That’s why I forgave you a long time ago.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” 

“Hey." She grabs his chin and forces him to look at her. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve. You are a good man. And I’m proud of you for talking about it. You were struggling, Bellamy. It’s okay. You got help. We saw it through.”

After the Ark came down, Clarke asked Abby if any of the psychotherapists made it. Sure enough, one did. He worked out the abandonment issues, the anger. Learned how to keep the intrusive thoughts at bay.

“I love you, Princess.”

“You haven’t called me that for awhile.” 

He grabs her waist and pulls her against him. “You’ll always be my Princess.”

“I guess it's my turn. It gets happier from here, right?”

He winces. “I’m not too sure about that.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

When the rays of the morning sun became unbearable, she forced herself awake. It felt like she'd been up for thirty hours, straight– her limbs ached, her mouth was dry, and her chest felt empty.

When she left her tent, there was a small bundle just next to the flap. It was folded neatly, resting on… her sketchbook?

The white cotton felt soft in her hands– it was the shirt Bellamy took. She slowly raises it to her face, breathing in the scent of pine, and flips open the sketchbook.

On the first page, in the corner, scribbled in thick charcoal: _I’m sorry._

She froze for a few moments before she slapped the book shut. She stalked to the patch of grass outside of the gate, to the would-be algae farm, and saw him. He was crouched next to Monty, holding two pieces of wood together as Jasper tied them with rope. Hearing the heavy footsteps, he looked up; regret and guilt shrouded his face, and his eyes held anguish.

“You’re _sorry?_ You’re sorry?” She shrieked, holding up the bundle of her shirt and sketchbook. She crumpled the piece of paper and flung it at him, which hit his side and pathetically fell to the ground.

Monty and Jasper looked alarmed. She had never sounded this vicious.

“Dude, why is her shirt…” Jasper muttered. Monty hit his stomach to shut him up.

“Clarke–” 

“What exactly are you sorry for, Bellamy? Reducing my body to a trade center for STDs?” 

Monty’s eyes widened. “Oh, shi–” 

The sharp exhaustion descended on her, as she continued to yell. “Or telling me I’m a spoiled Princess? That I’ve never known pain? Yeah, fuck my dad, right? Fuck Wells, right? Or are you sorry for this?”

She raised her right wrist, now encircled by a reddish-purple bruise. She heard Monty and Jasper's breath catch in their throats. And their half-appalled, half-ashamed gazes shifted over.

As he saw the bruise, his eyes flickered in horror. He stood up, taking a measured step towards her. "Clarke, I am so, so sorry–”

She stumbled back, recoiling– the sudden movement made her hollow stomach lurch. 

The memories of the last two weeks spilled over her in overwhelming tides. Jasper with a spear in his chest, the knife in Atom's neck, sobbing over Wells' body. She looked down at her hands, and nausea wracks her stomach; they were even uglier than they were in the hammock, a week ago. When he walked in and shrugged them off. _They’re fine_. 

Bruises, and cuts, and callouses, and ash, stitched together in a revolting quilt. As her gaze ran down her palm, her eyes lock on the bruise that stains her wrist, small flushes of red shining through where his thumb pressed down.

And, then, her mind is woolly. Distorted light spots flick between pupils, drawing out flashbacks of pale palms on silver, flakes of skin, wine-red eyes. Before she realized, her body started to betray her– she choked on nothing, felt her skin flush hot. Like her mind had fallen from where it rested. And, in the space behind the blur, the trees fell lateral.

Monty and Jasper watched in horror as she began to sway and slump to the ground. They reached forward to catch her before her head hit the dirt, holding her as she shrank. 

He's stilled for a moment, mind racing to register what the hell just happened. Monty's yell forced him forward.

“Bellamy!” 

Jasper glared at him. “Get help!”

He strode forward and reached down; Jasper scowled and pulled away, but Monty caught his eye, and nodded. They reluctantly loosened their grip.

Gathering her in his arms and supporting her head with his palm, he ran back to camp. Octavia was in front of the Dropship when she saw him. She rushed over, eyes frantic, looking for blood, injuries. He shook his head. And she looked puzzled.

They shouldered their way into her tent, and gently placed her down. But, as he stood, he began to panic, not knowing what to do. Something shoved his shoulder, and he turned to see Octavia holding a blanket, a bucket of water, and a cracked stopwatch from the Dropship, staring at Clarke with worried eyes.

Her face swiveled to his. “What the hell happened?” 

His silence drew anger on Octavia's features. So, she shoved him aside and she knelt down, sweeping back the hair plastered to Clarke's forehead. "Hey, lady. You’re gonna be fine. You have to be fine."

Placing a pillow under her head and draping the blanket over her lower half, Octavia glanced at the stopwatch. 

“Why are you putting a blanket on her? She’s sweating–”

“She’s going through a cold sweat. It happens when someone suddenly experiences an immense amount of stress. Physical, orpsychological. Or both.”

After gathering Clarke's hair and tying it in a knot above her head, she pulls at her belt.

“You just said she’s in a cold sweat! And, what’s with the stopwatch–” 

Octavia's eyes were all venom as she looked over her shoulder. "I know what I'm doing, Bellamy! I've spent the last week with her! Maybe if you did the same, instead of drowning in your own testosterone, you might have known that she has a history of seizures. The stopwatch is to time them. Do you know what happens when someone has a seizure? Their limbs go stiff. Do you want her blood flow to be cut off because her belt clenches around her body too tight?"

“No!”

“Well, then get out!” she screamed, panic written on her face.

“O–” 

"Get out! Get Raven! And Harper!” 

His face fell as he spared one last look at her, before leaving the tent. As soon as the flap passed his head, he saw Raven and harper pushing through the growing crowd of concerned kids.

"What the fuck did you do, Blake?" Raven growled, pushing past him, Harper on her heels.

“Oh my god, Clarke…” He overheard Harper, her tone tinged with such despondence that he didn't think possible from the usually bright, sunny blonde. Raven, Octavia, and Harper spoke in hushed whispers for a few more minutes.

In a glossy flash, Raven sprinted out of the tent and past the gate. Blinking, he tried to weave through the throngs of teens, but they kept trying to get his attention.

“Dude, what the hell is going on?” Murphy muttered in his ear.

“Where is she?” Finn's head searched the crowd.

“Bellamy? What’s wrong?” Roma asked, trying to place a hand on his forearm. 

As he pushed past the crowd to the campfire, he felt Monty and Jasper's glares from the bench, steady on his cheek. But they said nothing when he slumped down next to them, leaning against the log. 

**__**

**PRESENT**

Tears sting both of their cheeks, thinking about what they could've lost that day.

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

He awoke to a tapping on his shoulder.

Eyes adjusting, it took him a moment to remember what happened. And he sat up, panicked.

“Where’s Clarke?” 

Harper hovered over him. “Take it easy. She’s okay. You can see her. She’s awake.” 

His worry alleviates, just slightly. “What happened?” 

“So, apparently, she hadn’t eaten or had water all day, because she was running around everywhere. And she hadn’t slept, because–"

“Because of me."

“Yeah, because of you." Annoyance was thick in her voice. “Octavia told you that Clarke has a history of seizures, right? She thinks she has some sort of epilepsy. And the seizures flare up when she hasn’t slept or had water, and she thinks the physical exhaustion just pushed her too far.”

He nodded wordlessly, and quickly stood up. “Thanks, Harper."

She just patted his back. “Go see her. She asked for you.”

A sliver of hope dawned on him, but hesitated. "Wait, Harper. When we were fighting and I…” he cringed. “I grabbed her wrist, it looked like she dissociated, or something. She froze. And it happened again when she looked at her hands at the algae farm.”

She bristled.

“And a few days ago, she told me how she grew up with red marks on her palms, and fingertips. But they weren’t birthmarks. And I don’t know what happened.”

The fingers running through her hair faltered. She gripped the strands tighter, and spoke sharply. “I think that’s something you should talk to her about."

He frowned, wanting to press further, but was persuaded otherwise when seeing the unflinching look on Harper's face. So, he silently ducked out and walked to her tent, laughing inwardly– the few feet felt like miles. 

They couldn’t exactly knock on tents, so he settled for a quiet mutter of her name, before peeking his head in. She was on her side, her head propped up on some folded jackets and pillows. Octavia sat next to her, working her hair with a wooden comb.

And she smiled. “Hi."

Octavia didn’t look up.

“Clarke, I am so sorry." When he tries to approach her, he just then notices the man on her other side. He towered over him, his shoulders slashed with ink spanning twice the size of his own.

“It’s okay, Lincoln,” she said softly, reaching her fingers out. He crouched down and held her hand in between his palms. 

“ _Yu ste yuj. Ai gada,"_ he whispered, squeezing her hand. 

She smiled. “ _Mochof_.”

As he stood, his head nearly hit the ceiling of the tent. He turned to Octavia, with a soft smile. “ _Ai hod yu in.”_

She beamed. A smile he hadn't seen before. “ _En ai, yu, ai hodnes_.”

On his walk out, his shoulders roughly shoved his own. Octavia and Clarke shared an amused look, when they thought he wasn’t looking. “Bellamy, I need to tell you–” 

But his shouts cut her off. “Who the hell was that? A Grounder? How do you both know what the hell he was saying?” 

Octavia released an angry breath and threw the comb down. “Yes, big brother, a Grounder. More specifically, a Grounder who is also a healer, who basically saved Clarke’s life.”

Bellamy looked at Clarke. She nodded.

“What the hell are you doing with a Grounder? He looks like a goddamn bodybuilder on steroids."

“You’re just mad that someone around here finally has more muscles than you,” Octavia muttered, rolling her eyes.

The comment drew out a small laugh from Clarke’s chapped lips, which made Octavia perk up, with a bright smile. 

It took him a few seconds.

“You’re dating a Grounder?” he roared.

Clarke yelped, and he immediately felt guilty, as Octavia hurried to place her hands over Clarke's ears and temple.

“You idiot!” she hissed. “Her post-seizure state isn't exactly pleased by loud noises.” 

“It was a real seizure?”

“Yeah, Bell. A real seizure. She has a form of epilepsy that requires medication to be treated. Clearly, we don’t have that down here. So, thank god Lincoln helped us."

Octavia looked at Clarke, like there was something more, but she shook her head.

"He really did save my life. And risked his own. He’s a really selfless and sensitive guy. And suck around for hours to make sure I was okay." 

Octavia smiled at her appreciatively, squeezing her hand.

“He’s perfect for her, Bellamy, I promise. He would do anything for her. He even taught O and I some Trigedasleng,” she cleared her throat. “ _Ai laik krei happy yu are hir_.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. Clarke just shrugged and nodded.

“Great. Now, you both can go run with the savages. Don’t start running around half naked, like that guy." 

“Enough, Bell!” Octavia exclaimed, frustratedly. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? I really like him. I love him."

“Are you kidding me? You’re seventeen. You have no idea what love is!” 

"You know, I know you go hard on that whole obsessive-controlling-big-brother act, but I thought–" Her upper lip trembled. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

Clarke sympathetically rubbed Octavia's arm. “I mean, Clarke and I weren’t even friends, and she was supportive from the very beginning. She was wary of it, but she trusted me to make my own decisions.”

His pupils, nearly, reflected black. “You… you knew? You knew all this time, and you didn’t tell me?” 

“I didn’t think it was my place to tell you, and she only told me–”

“You said leaders were supposed to tell each other everything!” 

Her face crumpled. 

“I asked her not to tell, Bell! Stop being an asshole!"

“I’m the asshole? She's a hypocrite! First, she didn’t tell me about Lincoln. And now, she won't even tell me what the hell is going on. All that cryptic shit about her hands?" 

Clarke retched into the bucket next to her sleeping bag. Octavia swore, tilting her on her side and pulling her hair back.

She glared at Bellamy, like she didn’t know him. “Get out.”

They held each other's gaze, her eyes murderous, and his, furious. But concerned. It didn't break until they heard quiet sniffles, again.

“Look what you did. Are you happy?”

He hesitated. “Shit. I'm sorr–”

“I think you’ve done enough for now." Octavia tugged her closer to her chest. 

And a protest died on his tongue as he watches her bury herself in Octavia's lap.

**__**

**PRESENT**

He stares at the ceiling.

“I’m a fucking asshole." 

“Yeah.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

He ran through the list of people that could potentially hate him, right now:

_Well, Octavia. A given. His friends, who looked at him like he's a monster. And the only other person on the ground who gave a damn about him. Could he blame them?_

After a sigh, he walked outside and sat on the ramp of the Dropship. They would come around. Monty, Jasper, Harper– he wanted to include Raven, but that didn't seem right– with an apology, and maybe an offer to hike through the forest to get all of the moonshine ingredients.

And he'll just have to come to terms with the fact that Octavia now depended on someone else. Which he hated. But, seeing her so happy– he could deal. It would be easier if he had his other girl back. _Time to form a list of addendums to his previous apology._

He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. And just decided to get it over with.

He strolled across camp, ducking into her tent and sitting in the corner. Even asleep, she was... pretty. Somehow. Her face was flushed pink with exertion, her round face still emulated warmth, an empathy he would never never know. Eyelashes still thick with tears, lips tipped open.

Trying to distract himself, he forced his gaze away to travel around her tent. Spotting a crumpled piece of paper in the corner, he leaned over and gingerly unfolded it.

His breath caught. It was him. She drew him, his profile. His face was angled upwards, in mid-laugh. The charcoal strokes were soft and light, making him gentle, despite his hard lines and edges. “Bellamy?” Her voice was weak. “Hey." Her eyes flickered down to the drawing in front of him.

“S-sorry. I wasn’t snooping, I just found it torn up in the corner."

She just stared at him for a few seconds, before a small smile played on her lips. “That’s okay. It's not like you haven’t seen my art before."

She grimaced as she studied the tattered paper. “Yeah. That was after the day I saw Roma walk out of your tent. Sorry."

“You don’t have to apologize for anything." He hesitantly moved closer, not wanting to spook her.

She scooted over, and his heart starts to beat a bit faster. Crawling over, he brought his knees up, and she rose to match him. 

“You can lay back down–”

“That’s okay. I don’t like being in bed all day.”

“The last time you avoided your bed all day, you had a seizure.”

“I know, Bell. I was there.”

He held back his smile, relishing in the tiniest bit of amusement on her face. “So,” he leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "You’re calling me Bell, now?”

Her gaze dropped to her lap, but not before he caught her blush. "I just– I’ve spent a lot of time with Octavia, and I kind of just picked it up, I guess. I’ll stop.”

“No!" he blurted, putting a hand on her knee. “Uh, no. It sounds nice when you say it.”

Her head tipped up, a small smile on her lips. “Well, good, because I think I’d started to angrily scream 'Bellamy' way too much, and it reminded me of annoying things. Like guns. And knives. And torn-up jackets."

“I like my jacket." But, a lopsided smile overtook his frown. “Well, I can think of better ways to make you scream my name.” 

“Ass,” she tried to snap, but her voice was still shredded. 

For a few seconds, it felt like the way things used to be. 

“I have so much to say."

“It’s okay. We can talk about it later."

"I should do it now. I care too much about our friendship. And you, too. And the fact that you're letting me in right now, after me just being an asshole for three days." He looked down. "That's how I know I have to. Even if I don't deserve to have you in my life, you're too good to let go without fighting."

Her eyes widened, not used to this kind of Bellamy. Vulnerable, kind, sweet.

“I’m so sorry, Clarke. The things I said, and I did–" His eyes flickered to the bruise on her wrist. She quickly tucked it into her lap.

"Were so fucked up. The things I said about you not knowing pain... I was so out of line, and so wrong. You do know it. And I don't know how you can push through it all, on top of leading all of these dumbass kids. You're the strongest person I know."

She scoffed, expecting him to follow up with an insult. But he didn't.

“And the stuff about Finn, and you being with him.” He huffed in disbelief. “I was such a dick. Honestly… I was so, so jealous. Jealous because you're so _good._ You're amazing with Octavia. God, you’re practically sisters, now. You were there when I wasn’t. And Monty, Jasper, Harper, Raven– you would do anything for them. You sprinted through that fucking forest to save Jasper. And you set Monty and Harper up, very impressively. Don’t think I didn’t notice." 

Another, louder laugh. 

"And, come on. You and Raven, somehow, forged a friendship through a guy who fucked you both over." He winced, hoping that he wasn't overstepping. But her face still held a smile. 

“You all care about each other. But you– you take care of them. You make sure they’re happy, and safe. And fuck, alive." He hesitates. “And you watch out for me, too. No matter how much of an asshole I am. And you do all of it with that stupid smile."

He rolled his eyes. "Like that one, right there.”

And her head tipped back in laughter, clutching the blanket to her chest.

“You’re just too good. And that pissed me off. But the real reason it made me angry– like, really angry– is that I knew you were too good for me," he rushed through the last part, his hand on his forehead. 

She reached over to pry his hand off of his face, and slid her fingers down his arm, laying her hand in his. He blinked down at their hands. The touch inspired the tiniest kinds of goosebumps, and he gently rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. 

"I was just scared. Because kissing you made me feel something. Something weird. So I thought sleeping with Roma would make things... normal."

She raised an eyebrow.

“But that didn't work. Because I’m an idiot. And Jonty made me realize that.” 

“Jonty?” 

"God," he muttered. "They’re rubbing off on me. When we were going to talk about the lake’s travel plans, I wanted to tell you that. And I wanted to tell you that the way you listened to me on the anniversary of– you know– it helped me. A lot. Even if I went and slept with Roma afterwards. Idiot." He slapped his forehead again.

"Stop that." She grabbed his hand again, and tugged it down.

“Well, if it makes you hold my hand every time I do it, I’d say it's a pretty good habit.”

She just shook her head, smiling. And he stared at her wrist, still buried in her lap. "I just– when I say that I'll never forgive myself for doing that," he looked away. “I mean it. Seriously. I swear I'll never hurt you, again."

And he was desperate to ask about the marks on her hands, those times where she dissociated. But he didn’t want to push it.

“Even if I take away your guns?"

He hesitated. 

"I'm kidding."

He frowns at her, but a sheepish smile quickly replaces it. "Sorry that you walked in on Raven and I. It didn’t mean anything. I swear.”

“I believe you.”

“And, I’m sorry for stealing your notebook from you. And, uh, your shirt." He scratched the back of his neck. “I washed it before I gave it back. Well, I made Connor wash it."

She glared at him, crossing her arms. "Seriously?" 

“And, I’m sorry for unabashedly flirting with you and trying to kiss you. Twice."

His gaze inadvertently leaned down to her lips. They were just so small. And pretty.

“Pretty?"

 _Fuck._ “Did I say that out loud?” 

She pushed him, but he leaned into it and pulled her down with him. They both collapsed on the ground in laughter, and she fell on top of him, her palms trapping his face, her hair a curtain over him.

A sheepish smile plays at her lips. “I’m uh–I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“I deserved that. Hell, I deserve to be punched. Or beat up by Lincoln.”

He abruptly sat up, making her tumble over. Taking her non-injured hand, he raised it to his face. She blinks.

“Slap me.”

“W-what?” she choked out.

He held her hand, pressing it to his face. “Slap me."

She rolled her eyes. “No, Bellamy.”

“Come on."

“No!"

“Please?”

“Fine.” 

She hesitated, before raising her hand and dragging it across his cheek.

“Seriously?” 

“I don’t want to slap you again." She looked down at her wrist. “I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

Alarm dropped on his features, as he remembered what happened the last time she slapped him. “Shit. I didn’t mean–”

“I know. It's okay.”

He's left wordless, because it wasn't okay, at all. So, instead, they just stared at each other for a few moments.

She blows a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Thanks.”

He reeled back a bit, surprised. “For what?”

“For apologizing.”

“Did you just thank me... for apologizing… for all the fucked up things I did?"

“It was a really good apology." 

They both dissolved into soft laughter. Her foot accidentally grazed his ribs, and he jerked back. A mischievous smile unfurled on her face, and she raised her eyebrows. “Are you ticklish?” 

"No." 

“Hm…” Her hand trailed down her chest, and he held his breath. 

But all the very inappropriate fantasies were pushed aside as she dug her fingers into his sides.

He started squirming away, but she pushed him down, her knees at his hips. Down the curve of his waist, his lower back, until she quickly learned that it's the worst just under the right side of his ribcage. After way too many, drawn-out moments, he huffed and firmly nudged her off. 

" _Oof_." She hit the the sleeping bag as he toppled over her. As he looked down, her face flushed pink, her hair splayed on the ground and between his fingers, he felt extremely weak. Like, extremely weak.

Her fingers poked down the indents of his ribcage, eliciting a steady stream of yelps. And he sucked in a breath as her fingers touched the tips of his hip bones.

His voice grew a bit too deep, too dark. "Clarke. Stop." 

But she didn’t stop. Instead, her fingers played the distance between the edge of his shirt, and the skin underneath. "Why?" 

The way that one word languidly tumbled out of her mouth, while her teeth rested on her bottom lip, almost made him lose his resolve. But he shouldn't. And he couldn't. He scrambled back into a seated position. She lifted herself onto her elbows and pouted. And his breath caught, once again. "Do you remember what happened the last time you pouted?”

She pretended to be thinking, a finger against her lips. "You'll have to remind me.”

He laughed and looked away. “You’re something else.”

“Are you gonna remind me, or what?” 

Sighing, he reached forward and placed his thumb against her bottom lip. “Pouting is for children, Princess.”

But, before he could pull it away, she caught it in her mouth. And released it. He blinks away the shade that tempts his pupils. “Clarke. Stop.”

“You’re boring."

"What has gotten into you?”

“I don’t know. Apologies turn me on.”

She turned his head, and he stared at her. But, laughter spilled from her mouth once again, and he rolled his own eyes. And they fell into a companionable silence.

“Clarke?” 

"What?"

“I just need to know, before anything else,” he started, slowly. “If you actually accept my apology. It's fine you don’t. I just need to know."

She stared at the ceiling. “Do you want me to be honest?” 

He winced. _Not a good sign._

“I’m just… I don’t know. I won’t be able to just go back to whatever it was before. I can’t explain it. It's like you hurt more than this." She waved her wrist in the air. 

And his hope withered. “I'm–"

“Sorry, I know. It’s not just that. I thought you would be happy that I pulled through this whole seizure thing. And would come comfort me, or something.” 

“I swear, I was so relieved–”

Her head snapped to his, almost subdued. "Let me finish. Even today, you seemed to be more concerned about Lincoln. More than me, being, you know, alive. And, I know Octavia is your whole life, your number one. And Lincoln seemed like a threat to you, I get it. But it would be nice, especially as your co-leader or whatever, if I was put somewhere on that list?" She smiled, meekly.

_But you're on it. High on it._

“I know that you’re on my list. I care about you. Even when you yelled at me in the Dropship, I needed to make sure that you were okay. You're important to me. And I thought we were becoming friends. And, then–"

She cleared her throat, staring down at her wrist. “You hurt me. I didn’t tell you this, when you grabbed my wrist, it triggered some sort of… flashback? And it–”

She paused, about to say more, but didn’t.

His mind clouded in confusion, he thought back to when she initially told him about the marks on her hands. _So, that's what happened when she dissociated those two times._ The realization prompted him to ask him more questions, but the words died in his throat as she kept talking.

“And your apology was giving back my own shirt and scribbling a note in charcoal. Can you see why that... broke me? And this may sound manipulative, but that seizure, today, it was pretty bad. Octavia, Raven, and Harper weren’t sure what was going to happen. And, you kind of had a part in that.

“And then, today, during the whole Lincoln thing– I get it. It's the ground. Life and death. We prioritize the people we love. And for you, that’s Octavia. And nobody else. And that's fine. But I can't keep putting you on my list, when I have no place on yours, you know?”

_Yeah, he knows._

“But, I want to try. I don’t want to never forgive you. I just don’t know how long it'll take me to get there,” she exhaled. “Okay. That’s all, I think.” 

As he tried to gather every thought, every response that formed in his head, the words practically spilled from his mouth. “Clarke, I promise you’re on my list, high on it, and–” 

She held her hand up. “Can we talk about it later? We were... good earlier. I want to keep being good. At least for tonight. Okay?"

"Okay."

And they were good, for awhile. They spent the next hour just talking. She proudly showed off her new abilities in Trig, he told her how Monty and Jasper had become something like protective older brothers to her, and how he thought Raven would stab him with a wrench in his sleep. Every time she laughed, the press on his chest weighed lighter, just a bit.

"Wait. You never told me what you said in the tent, earlier. With O.”

“Oh. Which part?” 

He stared at her, in exasperation. “Uh… the eye, crap thing?”

“ _Ai laik krei happy yu are hir.”_

“Yeah. That.”

“It means, ‘I’m happy you’re here.’” 

"Shit,” he muttered. “Now, I feel like even more of an asshole.”

And it's awkward for a few moments after that, but they slowly evened out into pleasant silence. 

He started shuffling up. “Alright. I’m gonna go back to my tent. It's late, sunrise is only a few hours." 

She sat up. “Wait. Are you tired?

“Not really.” 

“Stay here for a little while longer." She patted the sleeping bag. “I’m not tired either.”

He swallowed. "Isn’t that… weird?” 

“What?" 

“Me… getting in your space." He waved his hands between her and the sleeping bag.

“I mean, don’t you do that with Roma and your other groupies?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, but–”

“Great. Hop in.” She wiggled into the blanket and opened it for him.

“Clarke."

She sighed. “What?” 

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“You’re not like Roma or the others.”

Her cheeks started to feel warm, and she looked away. “Well, did you know that after seizures, people can get really bad chills? Sleeping is really hard."

“Low blow.”

“I mean, I could always ask Finn–“

“Nope."

He climbed over her, and she settled next to him. “Ah, yes. The human furnace.”

“This is really all you wanted from me, wasn’t it?”

“What else did you think I wanted?”

“Whatever.”

They laid side to side, staring at the top of her tent. The stars peeked through the netting. 

“Let’s play a game."

“Okay? What kind of game?” 

“Okay. So, we split the stars in half.” She pointed above them. “We’ll use Cassiopeia as the border. I get the stars to the left of her, you get the right. After we count to three, whoever’s star blinks first gets to ask the other person a question.”

His eyebrows rose.

“What?”

“Somebody knows her Greek constellations.”

“I should’ve known that Greek constellations would be the thing to impress you.” 

He smiled slyly. “Well, what else would you use to impress me?” 

“My extensive knowledge of complex medical procedures."

He frowned. “Okay, so, if a star on the left side blinks faster, you get to ask me a question, and if a star on the right blinks faster, I get to ask you a question?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“I’m not into that shit.”

“God. Everything really is about sex with you."

“Welcome to the life of a twenty three year old who didn’t spend time with women for most of his time in space.”

She laughed brightly, shaking her head. “Okay, ready? One, two, three, go."

They both stared at the stars until their eyes hurt. A bright star on the left twinkled.

“Ha!” She pointed at the sky. “You lose!” 

He rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna ask me a question, or what?”

“Hm…" she paused. “Who’s prettier, me, or Roma?”

He glared at her. “Seriously? Are you twelve?” 

“A game is a game. A loser is a loser. So?"

“You’re a child.” 

“So?” 

“I’m not answering your immature question.”

She pressed a hand against his abdomen, lightly curling her fingers into his shirt. He tensed. "Please?"

"Jesus," he shoved her hand away. "You," he mumbled.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“You, you idiot."

She cheered and he rolled his eyes. "You're still a child."

“Okay. Again. One, two, three, go!”

A star to the left shone, again.

“Okay, fuck this game.” He started to get up. 

She pulled him back down. “I promise I’ll do a real one this time. Okay. What’s your favorite memory with Octavia?” 

He's initially startled at her sincerity, and took a few moments to think. And a smile tugged on his lips. “Uh, I guess the time I first told her the tale of _Octavia the Younger._ She was so excited to hear what she was named after. At first, she was really into it. But then, we got to the end of Octavia the Younger’s second marriage, and O threw a tantrum," he laughed. “She kept yelling, ‘I don't want to just be a wife to men who are failures! I want to be the Queen! Why didn’t you name me Cleopatra, Bell?’” 

“That’s the most Octavia thing I’ve ever heard. A feminist from the very start.”

He turned his head, but her gaze held firm on his cheek.

“Are you staring, Princess?” 

“Perhaps." 

His head snapped back. “What is with you–”

“No questions unless a star permits it.”

He rolled his eyes. “One, two, three, go.” 

Not even ten seconds later, a star twinkled on the right side. She sighed.

“Thank you, Cass,” he nodded at the sky. “My question. What is with you, tonight?"

She folded her hands over her stomach, and kept staring at the stars. “Honestly. I don’t really know I guess almost dying kind of freaked me out.”

She laughed. He didn’t.

“Okay. Fine. Ever since I woke up, I felt this desperate need to cling to the good moments. The happy ones, I mean.”

More curiosity settled in his features. 

“While you were asleep, Octavia and I laughed for hours. We played with each other's hair, she tried to paint my nails with the pigments I use for my painting. I doodled her and Lincoln. We gossiped. We were just being teenagers, you know? I hadn’t felt that in a long time. I mean, not even on the Ark.

“She didn’t let me worry about anything for those few hours. Reassured me that Jasper, Monty, Harper, and Raven were okay. That no one had come to the Dropship with major injuries. No Grounder attacks. For those few hours, I was happy. And I didn’t realize how healing it was. So, I guess I’m just trying to stretch those moments out. Keep being a teenager." 

When her head dropped back to his, a small smile rested on her face. “Teasing and flirting with boys.”

“So, I’m just your outlet to recreate teenage fantasies?” 

“No. I wouldn’t want to spend time with anyone else.”

“Not even Finn?”

“No.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. "You make feel safe. And won't make me do anything I wouldn't want to do."

He bit back the colossal smile that tempted his lips.

**__**

**PRESENT**

"It was all true, you know.” 

“Even the Finn part?”

“Even the Finn part.”

“You never told me what you and O were gossiping about.”

“Hm?” 

“You said you were gossiping about boys. Which ones?” 

She shifts her head up, her eyes teasing. “A very handsome, rugged one.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yeah. Lincoln.”

“Hey!” He tugs on the piece of her hair, as she laughs.

“It was you. It was always you.” 

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

  
They had been playing what she aptly named, 'truth or star', for an hour. 

“Ready?” 

He nodded.

“One, two, three!”

After a few seconds, she cheered. “I win!”

But when she turned to him, he'd been staring at her the whole time. And, for a moment, she was looking at him, too, as if for the first time. The moon had curved right above them in the sky, shining through Cassiopeia's flecks; her glow splashed shadows all over his face, flickering from his cheek, his nose, his forehead. Making his freckles dance. It felt like the stars started to fall through the sky and linger in the air around them. Everything was slow, bright, the air particles glittering between them. 

“What’s your question, Clarke?” He murmured, searching her face. 

“Will you kiss me?” 

His eyes grew wide. “What?” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

His jaw clenched, and he forced himself to look up. “Clarke, I can’t–”

“Kiss me."

His eyes tore away from the sky, and the hopeful gleam, the reflection of Cassiopeia in her own, shattered his resolve.

The space between them dissolved in seconds, and he captured her lips with startling urgency. Their mouths desperately fell together, his hand trying to gather the small shadows of light that spill on her cheek, hers fisted in his shirt, keeping her from falling too fast, too heavy into him. They shared breaths like the sky was stealing it from them, their lips reflecting thin glimmers around them, taking every fight, every insult, each smile, and letting them ebb away into this small moment, in space and time, just them. 

Desperate for breath, he pulled away, but she's there to lure him back onto her, a smile against a broken gasp, something tame against something blustery, a gust of air waiting to be spun into wind. And, as her splayed fingers traced his ribcage, and down to his hips, it felt like he had to draw in each steady thing around him– the roots twisted into the ground, the branches held down by gravity, the constellations fixed in the sky– to reign himself in, to prevent himself from dropping onto her completely, drowning in her. 

"Clarke–" His warning stuttered as her fingertips tucked under the hem of his pants, sweeping thin lines, heat in its wake. 

And her lips flew off of his. For a split second, the absence of her disoriented him, until she landed on the skin of his neck, her tongue pulling a path down his jaw. Her teeth grazing his throat. A breathy groan spilled from his lips as her teeth descended and laid a series of bites, kisses, just under his ear. When she rose, and her tongue dragged across his lower lip, he froze. 

And the space between them widened again, her eyes searching for approval. But, he was already blown back, and the lingering stings of her teeth on his neck, the sight of her flushed, panting– that's when he fell, completely. He flipped her over, and their chests heaved into one another, a battle of the gentle waning into the fierce, the wind picking up air. Their tongues struggled together, a fervent need quickly growing in them; their touch demanded desire, their fingers grasping at hair, skin, clothes. His own mouth took claim, completely overwhelmed her neck, his bites desperate, fiery, drawing the line of reds and purples across her throat.

A whimper rang in the air around them, and his eyes refocused on her, beneath him. Breathless, red blooming on clear skin, hair in knots under her, and dark, bottomless want in her eyes. The whines that floated through the air dripped away, and she propped herself up on her elbows, wondering why he'd stopped. There was something hesitant in him, cautious in his throat, but the words of doubt swiftly died on his tongue, as she yanked him down. Her arms moved from his shoulders to his belt, fever in her fingertips, until they finally felt him, tight with want, with need. “Bellamy," she breathed.

And the name tumbling from her soft, swollen lips seemed to force the stars down, made them shatter the ground, until it's just him, her, them in their small sliver of the universe. It all thrashed together; his impatience, the tendrils of heat that slash against their skin, the biting words, the amorous teasing, the all-consuming feel, the breeze finally swirls into a tempest, its wisps pulling them together, skin on skin. 

His hands traced her chest before finding hers at his waist, and he forced them above her, before completely falling into her. But, as her head struck the pillow, she's pulled out of the moment with Bellamy and plunged into something else, entirely. Something painful, sore. 

_  
Her seven year old self was in a colorless room on the Ark, miscellaneous gray furniture spattered throughout the space. A scalding pain threading through the lines of her palm made her look down. A man with disheveled brown hair held her wrist down on a sharp metal. Pain spread through her fingers as the heat flew across her skin and into her nerve endings._

“ _A future doctor needs her hands, Clarke.” His lips curled back in a petrifying smirk. "T_ _his is what will happen when you try to tattle again, okay, sweetheart?”_

_He released her wrists and she screamed, her body crumbling to the floor. Her other hand clutched her wrist, her nails pressing so thickly into her skin, pricks of blood dripping down her fingertips._

_But she scrambled away from him on her hands, the streaks of blood following on the floor, as he advanced on her._

_“Be a good girl, next time.”  
  
_

Her yelp made Bellamy stop cold.

He flew off of her as she gasped for air, as if the bundles around her just weren't enough. She found herself sitting up, a hand on her wrist, wet on her cheeks.

“Bellamy?”

In the corner of the tent, facing away from her, he could feel the blood sliding through each of his veins, his nerves stinging. He hurt her, again.

“Come back."

His fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw held tight. Feeling a nudge on his calf, he spun around to see her beneath him, sitting on her feels. Her face pained, pure, petrified, all at once.

"Please come back. I'm okay." She reached up to unravel his fist, but he jerked away.

“Clarke. I can't."

Tears kept stumbling down on her cheeks, and he fell to his knees, using his thumbs to push them aside. She tried to fold her arms around him, but he pulled away. "I hurt you, again." He looked away, and stood up.

“But you didn’t mean to. Come back.” 

"I can't." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Princess."

And before he could succumb to the temptation of holding her, whispering and murmuring things as she falls asleep, he pushed through the tent flap and fled outside.

He heard his name fly from her mouth one last time before he's out of hearing.

**__**

**PRESENT**

“You dumbass,” she sniffs against his chest.

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

She wished she could say that the week after passed quickly. It didn’t. It was painfully, agonizingly slow.

He fell back into his same routine– him and the Guard always on patrol, or going to hunt. Occasionally helping Monty and Jasper with the farm. Leading the nightly meetings. Containing the panic of the delinquents when they heard a rustle in the trees.

But she did not. Octavia, Raven, and Harper insisted that she stayed on bedrest for a few days, at the very least. They took shifts to take care of her– Octavia had mornings, sometimes bringing Lincoln, which was, admittedly, much needed. Harper took afternoons; she sighed wistfully and relayed how Monty did or said something 'so romantic'– one day, it was simply him telling her that she had beautiful eyes. And Raven took nights, pacing back and forth, ranting about the stupidity of the various delinquents. 

_“He didn’t even know the difference between hydraulic floor jacks and piston jacks, Clarke!”_

She felt like she was made of glass, but she was thankful for their constant companionship, and the steady stream of smiles. But she wanted to see him, and she felt disappointed that he didn’t want to see her. 

Octavia yelled for hours about his insensitivity. She thought that he didn’t deserve to see Clarke, not after all he had said, had done. But, late at night, as all they gathered in her tent, Octavia listened and held her hand when she talked about how she missed him. And she ended up telling them about that kiss.

_“Okay, ew,” Octavia wrinkled her nose, encouraging laughter from the girls. “But I understand. I get it.”_

And that’s when she realized her and Octavia were more than close. It felt like their hearts were connected, to the point where she was sure they two would do anything to keep each other safe. Maybe Bellamy was right about them might as well being sisters.

She grew unbelievably close to Harper and Raven, as well. One night, when she woke, sweaty and screaming, from a nightmares of burning fingers and a man with wild eyes, the two held her until she fell back asleep. Harper sang a soft melody that her father had recited to her, when she was little. 

But, at long last, the final day of her bedrest came. And she decided to do something.

Harper gently wove pansies into her hair while Octavia gushed to Raven about how Lincoln had sewn her a cream dress for her birthday, after gathering silk fibers for a month. 

“I want silk fibers,” Harper frowned. “I could probably sew a nightgown that Monty would _definitely_ like.” 

Raven threw her ration pack at her. “You two are disgusting. No one needs to hear about your sex life.”

“I do,” Octavia sighed. “Lincoln and I haven’t, yet.”

“What?!”

She smiled to herself, a rush of gratitude sweeping over her. They really were the only reasons that she got through this week. 

While they prodded Octavia about Lincoln, she reached down to grab her sketchbook. Holding a charcoal piece, she closed her eyes, and let her hands move on their own. 

Her wrist swept over the paper, using the side of the charcoal to drag thick, gray lines across the page, her thumbs smudging the finer lines. Her eyes remained shut, but she could feel her fingers sketching uneven shapes, rectangles and circles blending together. Her hand seemed to whirl across the page for ten minutes before she felt the need to stop. 

Slowly opening her eyes, she saw that the three girls were at her side, their own eyes wide. She glanced down and her breath caught in her throat– there, on her lap, was a drawing of a room, a table, and the dark, red shadow of a man towering over a child. 

The two shadowy hands emerged from the paper, grabbed her face, and pulled her under.

She's thrust into a washed out room on the Ark, the only color being red irises in a shadow. Looking down at her body, which was curled back against the wall, she saw that she's quite small, with thin limbs. Her, as a child.  
  


_“Please, don’t,” she whispered._

_The man advanced on her, until he was only a few feet away. His face finally emerged from the shadows._

_Kaplan. Council Member Kaplan._

_His wicked smile ripped the air from her lungs. He stepped closer._

_“It wasn’t very nice to try to break our deal,_ _C_ _larke_ ,” _he crouched down to meet her at eye level._

_Only a few inches away, his breath blew the strands of hair covering her eyes to the side. He smelled like mint and cigarettes– toothpaste or floss, probably, to mask the smell of the contraband._

_“Do you know what happens when you try to break our deal?” He asked, silent rage spreading on his face. He reached down and forced her chin up, causing her to yelp._

_“It’s time to show you what happens when you tattle." He dragged her across the room by her elbow._

_“Please, stop!” She writhed as she slid across the porcelain floor of one of the Ark’s rec rooms._

_But he kept going. When they reached the steel table, he forced her upper arm up so that it laid flat on the surface. The rest of her body dangled, knees barely reaching the floor._

_“Do you know what this is?” He waved up the metal tablet in the air._

_A thick, black wire, no more than three feet long, dangled from the back of it, with a silver panel attached to the thick, gray square. Two black knobs were at each end, and two infrared screens sat in between them. Numbers flashed on the red surfaces._

_She whimpered. “Please! I won’t do it again! I promise!”_

_He just laughed. “That’s good, Clarke. But I need to make sure that you remember what happens if you do.”_

_With one hand still pinning her forearm on the table, he set down the device and forced the wire into a slot in the wall. The machine hummed to life._

_“Perks of Go-Sci station. Hot plates are quite the commodity, you know. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll give you one to take home. It could be useful to create some very effective, sterile syringes. Perfect for a future doctor."_

_Tears stung her face as she tried to tug her arm down. But his grip on her wrist was unyielding, heavy. He yanked her fist forward onto the cold, steel plate._

_Another whimper. He just chuckled, unraveling each of her fingers so that they’re splayed on the surface._

_“We’ll start with a warm up.” His other hand grabbed one of the dials, slowly moving it to the right._

_She cried, feeling heat unfurl into her hand, up through her fingers, to her palm, down to her wrist._

_“This must hurt, huh?” He mocked, exaggerated pity on his face. She nodded, sniffling._

_“You know, I could lose my council position if anyone finds out about us, Clarke. That would really, really hurt me. I could lose my family– my wife, my daughter. I could be floated. That thought brings me a lot of pain. Kind of like this.”_

_He twisted the knob violently, red numbers rapidly flickering on the screen._

_She screamed. An intense, excruciating heat spills onto her skin. White spots blur her vision. She felt the burns snake up through her fingers, as he used his other hand to place his fingertips onto hers._

_“A future surgeon needs her hands, you know,” he nodded. “Your mother would know.”_

_“Speaking of your mother–" he swiveled the knob even further._

_She wailed, her tonsils beginning to bleed from the ear-splitting noises erupting in her mouth. But the acoustic panels and foam on the walls swallow her cries._

_“It’s pretty important that she doesn’t know.”_

_He placed his other hand on her wrist, forcing her palm deeper into the metal._

_“So, what should we tell her when she sees your hand? Asks you what happened? Maybe something about how you were playing with those stun batons? With your boyfriend? I’ve seen you both sneak into Tesla Station, before.”_

_His smile was paralyzing._

_She didn’t say anything, her eyes starting to drift close from the blinding, overwhelming pain. And she started slipping out of consciousness. But he jerked her hand._

_“What do we tell her?” He hissed._

_“Me and– me and Wells snuck into Tesla Station to play with the stun batons. We accidentally broke one with our hands,” she stuttered, the familiar curtain of darkness taking hold._

_“Well done– good idea. You’re so bright, Clarke. You’ll be a good doctor.” He_ _let go of her wrist and she tumbled to the floor._

_She curled into herself, holding the wrist to her chest. She was breathing heavily, and the corners of her vision began to blur._

_She felt him grab her arms, and he starts dragging her to the couch on the other side of the room._

_“Now. Let’s try this, again. No tattling, this time.”_

_The last thing she felt was her pants being pulled down before descending into darkness._

**__**

**PRESENT**

He tries to contain his anger, but his fists still clutch the bedsheets, as the always do when she recounts her flashbacks. She turns on her side and huddles into his chest, lifting his hand to her hair. And he understands. 

He unravels the barely-there braid, and his fingers start to glide through her hair. His touch is gentle, reverent, as he kneads the top of her head. His fingers beg to take away all that pain, to tend to each electron, each band in her nervous system. They pass her neck and spinal cord, soft kisses pressed on each vertebrae. A tender kind of love dripping from his lips, murmuring _I love you's_ like prayer, like worship.

"Hold me."

And he doesn't need to be told twice.

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

She gasped and lurched back into the present, cold sweat pooling on her forehead. Her hands shook, and her sketchbook was no longer in her lap.

Three pairs of hands were latched onto her– on her arms, back, neck.

“Clarke?”

The vacuum shattered, and the air became breathable, less disorienting. Her eyes adjust to the dim light of the lantern in the corner. 

“Clarke?” The voice repeated.

Finally, each of her senses came to be.

“Clarke? What happened?”

Octavia knelt in front of her, two hands on her cheeks. The rubbing on her back and arms slowly drew out the tension from each limb.

Above her, Harper and Raven looked down with terror-stricken expressions. She breathed easier. _She was safe. She was safe._

“I’m okay." She curled into Raven’s lap, head on her thighs.

She brushed her hair back. “Shit, Clarke. You terrified us. We thought you had another seizure.” 

“Another? But, I just had the most vivid memory after looking at what I’d drawn. I couldn’t have had a seizure. It was so real."

Harper laid down next to her. “We think it was a dissociative-absence seizure.”

“A what-what?” 

“After last week, Octavia talked to Lincoln about the things you’d been experiencing. He had little knowledge of seizures, but went to his Commander and begged her to contact the healers from the other clans. Some members of Sangedakru came forward and described how a lot of their people experienced something similar. Staring off into space in silence, certain images flashing in their eyes. At first, they mistook it as just daydreaming. But that was questioned when the person having the seizure was completely unresponsive.

“Then, the healers from Sangedakru told this tale, their oral history about how the first healers in their clan found a sacred text buried in the sand. It was in a different language, but the translators from Azgeda and Floukru deciphered it. Apparently, it was a medical textbook, full of information."

She frowned. "Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” 

“We didn’t know if the information was reliable. But, when we saw your drawing, right now– it makes sense. The book explained that people with dissociative seizures often experienced the same flood of vivid memories, like you explained. And, in replacement of the dissociation, the individual tends to rescript their memories on something tangible. Like, in writing. Or, in a picture,” she gestured to her sketchbook.

“Where’s the book?” 

Raven shuffled up, next to her. “Lincoln’s commander has it. They’re studying it, but, hopefully, they’ll allow us to read it afterwards."

“Oh.”

It made sense. The sudden triggers, the flashbacks, how she froze in place. All because of one motion– Bellamy grabbing her hand.

“How do we treat it?”

Octavia reached into her satchel and pulled out the vials. “Lincoln brought us some antiserums.” 

Her mother had briefly told her about antiserums on the Ark, but they were used to combat antigens. Immune disorders. “What about the serums he brought earlier this week?” 

Raven sorts through the vials. "The medical journal describes how the blood serum can dissolve the pathogens and rebuild your plasma. The clan healers think that the acid fog agitated your immune system, and that’s what severed your brain’s electrical activity."

Clarke blinked.

“What? I’m a fast learner." 

She huffs a laugh. “Maybe you should be the healer, instead. I’ve never even heard of most of those words.”

“I’d have to carry this camp on my back. But, I’d be the first engineer-doctor that existed on the Ground.”

They all laughed. She felt lighter, despite the flashback and the massive amounts of information flung at her. 

But she saw how the girls’ eyes occasionally flicked to her sketchbook. 

“Do you think– that’s related to the memories you kept seeing earlier, when Bell grabbed your wrist?” Octavia hesitantly asked.

She had told the girls a bit about the flashbacks after her first seizure– that she kept seeing images of sharp steel, her fingertips burning, and the man with knotted hair. But none of them could make sense of it. As her sketchbook stared up at her, she began to dry heave.

_Kaplan. The hot plate. Her hands. Her pants._

“Clarke!” Octavia brought her head into her lap. Harper and Raven rushed forward to hold each hand. 

“Breathe, Clarke,” Harper caressed her bruised hand.

“I’m so sorry– I shouldn’t have asked.” 

But the soft touch of the three girls relaxed her. She was safe.

“No, it's okay." She took a deep breath. “I want to talk about it.”

The three girls looked at her hesitantly, but she nodded. She curled up in Octavia’s lap as Raven and Harper scooted to her side, still holding her hands. “The man– it was Kaplan.”

Harper gasped and Octavia made a choking sound. 

“Kaplan? _Council Member_ Kaplan?” Raven wavered.

“He… he was from Gov-Sci station, remember?”

The three girls nodded.

“We were in one of the Ark’s rec rooms. That’s the room in my drawing. He had… a hot plate. That’s the steel I kept seeing. He was mad at me and kept asking why I had tattled.”

“Tattled?” Harper gathered her eyebrows.

“He said that I almost broke our ‘deal’. And that he needed to show me what happens when I tried to tell on him. So, he started dragging me across the room.”

Octavia paled.

“He dragged me to the table, and put the hot plate down. Grabbed my wrist and slammed my hand down it.”

“The wrist. Your trigger,” Raven blinks.

“And he plugged in the hot plate. And turned it on.”

“What?” The three girls shrieked. 

“He told me that he could be floated if our deal was broken. He could lose his daughter, and wife. If I tattled. So he increased the heat. And told me to fabricate a story, for when my mom, or other people would see the burns on my fingers. And he turned the knob, again.” Above her, Raven's tears dripped onto her cheek.

“Wells and I snuck into Tesla station. We broke a stun baton. That was the story. He let me go, and I fell on the floor. Started to pass out. I felt him drag me to the couch, and throw me onto it.”

“But– what was the ‘deal’? What were you tattling on?” Raven whispered.

“I felt my pants being ripped off. Air on my legs. Then I passed out.”

Silence overwhelmed the tent for a minute, before Octavia couldn't stay quiet anymore; she sank into loud sobs, her chest hunching over, her tears tumbling from her cheeks in steady streams.

"Oh god. Oh god," Harper sniffs, eyes pink and puffy, her hair knotted as her fingers tug on her hair.

And Raven was silent, a single tear on her cheek. Her features twisted into harsh lines– lips thin, nose flared, and eyes dark, murderous. "He was one of my mentors," he muttered.

She faltered, thinking about a young Raven being alone with him.

"I'm going to fucking kill him." Rage dripped from every syllable. "I’m going to fix the radio, contact the Ark, and tell them to shred his limbs and castrate him, before propelling him into space."

After a few minutes, the three girls huddled together. They tied together the sleeping bags that Fox brought them, and laid down together, strands of black, brown, blonde hair tangled as they held each other's hands. Dark, wet spots stained the pillows, but at least they were all there, together.

She fell asleep to the cacophony of breaths. This, she realized, is home. She is safe. She is safe.

The next morning, standing in the middle of camp, Bellamy grew concerned as he couldn’t find Clarke, Octavia, Harper, or Raven, anywhere.

He thought she was off bedrest. But there was no sign of them.

It wasn’t until well into the afternoon that they stumbled out of her tent, her on Octavia's back, all laughter and smiles. He almost laughed just looking at them. Because the four girls looked like they had a reason to be happy. _To be happy on the ground. To live on the ground._

Octavia caught his eye and gently placed Clarke on the ground. After motioning to her about something, she nodded and walked in the direction of the Dropship. To treat the patients that piled up in the last week, no doubt. Monty and Jasper tried their hardest to find herbs that could treat the rashes, bleeds, and cuts– but as soon as they tried to stitch up Miller with a pine needle, he had put an end to their pop-up clinic.

The other three crossed camp to him, with unreadable expressions. When they finally reached him, they stared at him, silent.

After a few moments, Raven punched his shoulder. 

“Ow!” He scowled, rubbing the top of his arm. 

“That’s for triggering Clarke.” 

He winced. “I know, I deserve that–“

Octavia punched his other shoulder. 

“What the- ow, O! What the hell?"

“For yelling at her after she had a seizure.”

Harper punched his chest. 

“Seriously? You, too?”

“For kissing her and walking away.”

His cheeks burned. He didn’t know that she told them all of that. Maybe he assumed that she wouldn’t tell Octavia, because he was her brother. Guess they're soul sisters, now.

The three of them advance on him and trap him against the fence. Raven stood before him, while Octavia and Harper flanked her sides. “If you ever hurt her again, Blake,” she jabbed a finger at his chest. “I will personally build a shock strap that I’ll tie to your balls when you sleep. And I will make sure the shocks last long.” 

He winced. 

“Ew. Did not have to hear about my brothers balls,” Octavia's face scrunched in disgust. “But if you ever lay a hand on her, again, I will tell Lincoln about each time you called me stupid, or naive. And he’s scary when he’s angry.” 

Harper, despite her tiny frame, loomed over him. “And Monty has lots of spare poison ivy. Shame if it got anywhere a bit sensitive."

“Okay, fuck! I get it. I won’t. I promise. Please let me see her."

The three girls narrowed their eyes and communicated something with their shared gaze, before nodding.

“Fine,” Raven snapped. “But we’ll wait just outside the tent.”

“But–”

“Outside the tent.” 

“Okay. Fine.” 

She nodded solemnly. No one said anything for ten seconds. 

“Okay, bye big brother! I’m off to see Lincoln!” Octavia flounced away, with a mischievous smile.

He scowled, moving to follow her. But Raven placed a hand on his chest and slammed him back against the fence. “I don’t think so. Unless you don’t want to see Clarke?”

He fell limp against the fence. “I do.”

“Great.” She looped her arm through Harper's. “Let’s go get lunch rations."

And they skipped away, leaving him against the fence, alone. 

**__**

**PRESENT**

Daylight starts to peek through the windows. 

And she never fails to laugh at this part. “I love protective Harper. And Raven. And Octavia." She stretches, looking at the curtains hovering in the morning breeze. “Who knew our story was so long?” 

“Seven years, Princess.”

She yawns. “Are we done yet?” 

“Almost. Thank god it gets better from here.”

**__**

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

They blurted out at least fifty _are you sure?’_ s before they relented.

The girls' draped a blanket over her knees, and placed water and her sketchbook next to her. “I’m not on bedrest anymore.”

Raven turned her nose up. “Yeah, well, he’s the reason you were initially on bedrest. And I don’t trust him to not repeat his mistakes.”

“It’ll be okay, Clarke,” Harper softly placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just holler if you need anything.”

Octavia firmly nodded. “We will be standing right outside." 

"Yes. Okay. Get out."

And after they left, a few moments passed, before she heard rustling. “Remember, Blake. Electric shock.”

She laughed to herself.

Finally, his head poked in through the tent. Seeing her, his face softened.

"Hey." She stared at him as he sat down, knees up, eyes on the ground.

“I missed you," he finally said, lifting his head.

She blinked at the sincerity and guilt in his eyes. She's quiet. “Then why didn’t you see me?” 

“They wouldn’t let me.”

She huffed, and rolled her eyes. "Those girls."

“No, I mean– they were right. It was for the better."

“Oh.”

“No– not like that. I did want to see you. I just,” he looked away. “I wanted to make sure that I finally thought of everything. The stuff you deserved to hear."

“So?” 

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

“Wait. Actually, me, first.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. After flipping the page open, she handed him her sketchbook. Confusion, fear, anger flashed across his face as his eyes roamed the shadowy figure, the child, the red eyes.

“What is this?" His hands shook, and she wrapped her palms over his knuckles to steady them.

“Remember the flashbacks I told you about?” 

He nodded. 

“That was me. And Council Member Kaplan, in one of the Ark’s rec rooms.”

The sketchbook dropped from his hands. “What happened?”

She told him everything. The colorless room, the knobs of the hotplate, the burns, the tattling, the punishment. Dangling from the table. Scrambling into the corner. Her pants being pulled down, and then darkness.

He had stopped breathing by the time she finished. Excluding the twitch of his jaw, every inch of his body had stilled. The lethal, furious look on his face nearly turned his freckles black.

“Bellamy?”

And when his eyes met hers, his anger fell away into nothing, as he saw the young, vulnerable, fragile girl from the drawing. Within a single breath, strong arms were wrapped around her, and a face was buried into her neck. He clutched her tightly, but with a gentle, tender hold. After a few moments, she fell limp into his arms. She felt warmth, comfort, relief, and everything in between.

And, in that moment, she felt safer than she had ever since they dropped. This is home. She is safe.

“I’m so, sorry. Clarke. I’m sorry.” 

And she let herself break. She sobbed violent, hot tears, and crawled into his lap. He held onto her tight, murmuring things into her hair, pressing his cheek against her head. And she swore that she heard the three words. They stayed like that for a long time.

After he wiped her face clean with a washcloth, she sighed. “Thank you.” He didn’t respond, just wrapped his arms around her tighter. After she mustered up enough courage, she told him about what Octavia, Raven, Harper, and Lincoln found about the dissociative-absence seizures. His mouth had dropped open, shocked that the three girls managed to communicate with the other clans and their healers.

He thought back to what she had been saying for the last few weeks.

_“I can’t recognize the way my hands look. They’re ugly.”_

_“They’re not birthmarks. But I don’t remember when I got them.”_

_“When you grabbed my wrist, I had these… flashbacks?”_

And, finally, it all made sense. This time, he sniffed into her hair, and she comforted him, running her hand over his chest. After a while, she spoke up. 

“Tell me something."

With a small smile, he told her that the algae farm was finally built, and while the soup wasn’t particularly delicious, they were all pretty damn happy to have a steady food source.

She laughed when he recalled how Monty and Jasper tried to sew up Miller’s cut earlier that week.

She frowned a bit when he told her that every girl in camp glared at him for the entire week, but smiled when he told her that Monroe and Fox had pushed him into the mud on one of their hunts. 

He started telling her the story of Bellerophon and Pegasus. How the slayer of monsters grew into arrogance after his many kills. His hubris made him believe that he deserved to join the Gods in the sky. So, he saw Pegasus one day at the river bank, with its ivory, silken wings, and insisted on taming it, so he could fly to the Gods. But Zeus was angered by his egotism, and struck Pegasus with a gadfly. Bellerophon fell from the sky.

"He, literally, got off of his high horse."

“I’m sensing that you’re Bellerophon in this tale."

He just smiled back at her. They heard Raven scoff from outside the tent. 

“That's stupid. Why do I have to be the tamed animal? I definitely can’t be tamed. Not by you, especially.” 

“You’re not.” 

“What am I then?

“Athena.”

“What did she do?”

He looked down at her. “She broke his fall.”

They fell back into normalcy within the next few days. But their bickering turned into unbearable (and nauseating, for everyone else) teasing. Their avoidance of one another turned into him slinging his arm around her shoulders, or her brushing the hair out of his eyes after a hunt. 

A week later, after breaking into the art bunker once again and finding more colored pencils and pigments, she all but demanded to draw him. Harper, Octavia, and Raven were still wary about her being alone with him. So they stood outside the tent. Again. 

Her tongue stuck out from the corner of her mouth as she sat across him. Every so often, as she looked up from her sketchbook, he caught a glimpse of her focused, determined eyes. And he couldn’t help but grin.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” 

“I’m drawing a close-mouthed smile. You keep showing your teeth when I look up at you.” 

“I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.” 

A pale pink bloomed on her cheeks, and she grumbled something along the lines of _‘is that your best line_ ’ before returning to her sketch. 

After she showed him the final product, and he stared at it in awe for at least ten minutes, they fell on their backs, tracing the constellations. She turned her head, with a sly smile. “Truth or star?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever the hell you want, Princess.” 

“One, two, three.”

A star blinked on the right. He smirked at her. 

She sighed. “Oh god.” 

“Who’s hotter– Finn, or me?” 

“And who’s the twelve year old, now?” 

“As you said,” he cleared his throat and raised his voice an octave. “‘A game is a game. A loser is a loser.’”

She shoved him. “I do not sound like that!” 

“Answer the question, Princess.” 

“Fine,” she huffed. “You. Okay? You.” 

He grinned widely, and they heard a squeal and an ' _ew!'_ from outside the tent. 

“Can you leave?” They yelled in unison. After a bout of giggles, they heard footsteps trot away.

They went back and forth for a few minutes, from the mundane to the serious. What she did in her cell in the Skybox, how he didn’t actually mind the taste of jaguar meat after they killed it in their first few days, when he started liking mythology, how she always beat Wells at chess. Asking about her father’s last message, or how he used to smuggle food under the floorboards for Octavia. 

After a particularly bright star flickered on her side, she took it as a sign. 

“Am I a good kisser?” 

He raised his eyebrows, surprised by her question. And his eyes flickered to her lips. 

“The best.” 

His eyes lingered there for a few, bloated seconds. But, he abruptly turned his head away, and disappointment trickled down her chest. 

He told her that his favorite Greek god was Apollo, despite everyone associating him with Hades. He learned that her favorite book was _Sense and Sensibility_. He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “And you call me a dork?” She watched the dark curls fall onto the thin layer of sweat, inspired by the summer night. 

That’s it. 

A star blinked on the left. 

“Kiss me.”

He turned his head, amusement written on his face. “That’s not a question.”

“I don’t care.” 

And with that, she surged forward and captured his lips with hers, ardently placing her palms on his cheeks. 

“Clarke–”

But she was already swinging her leg over his hips, settling on top of him. "Do you ever shut _up_?” 

His laugh against her lips quickly dissolved into the back end of a gasp, as her teeth tugged on his lower lip. Gently placing his hands on her hips, he let her sweep her tongue against his.

She huffed against his mouth. “Kiss me for real.”

“I am kissing you for real.”

Her teeth drew a path down the soft skin of his neck, leaving searing bites in her wake. “Stop treating me like I’m about to splinter in your hands. I’ve felt like that for the entire week.”  
  
His grip tightened as he choked back a groan. “I’m not–” 

She slowly, agonizingly dragged her hips across his, and he buried his face in her shoulder before flipping her over. He placed one hand on her cheek. “Let me do this right.” 

Her sigh accompanied a hesitant nod. And his lips fell on hers, sweet, intimate.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Her fist gathered his hair in her fingers, pulling him back down. They moved reverently, slowly, his thumb drawing love letters as it ran down her arms. His fingers burned trails of warmth, of fervor, as they grappled with her clothes; his mouth descended down her chest, whispering promises, each word writing itself on her ribs. And as his teeth grazed patch, after patch of skin, reddish-purples bloomed and rippled under the soft press of his tongue, his lips. 

He taps her nose. “You’re mine.” 

“That was the least possessive or sexy thing _ever._ ” 

He frowned, but lifted her lower back to find the clasp of her bra. “What the–”

She bit back a laugh. “It doesn’t have a clasp.”

“Why do you wear clothes that make it even harder for me to undress you?”  
  
“Well, I wasn’t exactly planning on stripping for you, tonight.”

He pulled away, concerned. “We don’t have to–” 

“No, you idiot. You didn’t get the hint, apparently. I’ve been giving you sex eyes all week. And you avoided me every time. When we went hunting together a few days ago, when we checked on the algae farm, when everyone left after dinner yesterday–”

“I get it! I’m sorry!” He ducked his head, but anything bashful quickly turned into deep, dizzying want, as his pupils were blown black. “I’m sorry for resisting them. Let me make it up to you.” 

After hopelessly fumbling with the fabric– her laughter not helping, at all– his eyes gathered every inch of her, bare and breathless. He blinked. 

“Clarke, you’re–” 

“Beautiful. I know.”

“I was going to say sexy, but okay.” And his mouth descends again, laying his love on her chest, on each spot of skin that makes her back arch off the ground, her toes curl into the blanket. “ _God_.”

“That’s not my name,” he whispered, after a lash of his tongue.

She stared down at his lopsided grin. “Hilarious.”

A whimper slips from her lips as his fingertips press into her, a soft flush sweeping in their trail. “Bellamy, please–” 

His name, desperate on her lips, was enough for his lips to slide down without hesitation, his teeth pulling at the edges of her underwear. As his fingers found her, the arm holding him up nearly gave out. “Holy shit.”

“I told you. For a week.” 

When he pressed his fingers into her, the need between them broke into a vicious tidal wave, pleasure taking place of breath. Their gasps wove together in an urgent cadence, barely audible to the sleepy tents and swaying forest around them, but so vibrant and sonorous in their own margin.

“Jesus,” the deep smoke of his voice swirled against her throat as another finger edges in, drawing out small curls, small twists against her. 

“That’s not _my_ name.” But her attempt at wit quickly died in the back of her throat, another soft moan blending in with her breath. 

His head snapped up, a grin playing at his swollen, scarlet, _fucking sublime_ lips. “As I said earlier,” his fingers began to rekindle something deep, something untouched inside of her, reaching the farthest, frayed branches of her being. “The Princess has jokes.”

Her need for him started testing her lungs, stringing out breath, after breath, as he picked up his pace. “Faster.”

And he obliged, each jolt of his fingers stoking a blaze that began to unfurl in an overwhelming, unbearable reach. His own breathing grew rough as his mouth dangled at her ear. “Another?” 

She could barely respond, a flushed mess of trembles, of splayed fingers grasping at every inch of his shoulders, of frantic gasps for air. “I–I don’t know.”

Leaning down to brush away the tangled strands of hair resting on her forehead, he said nothing, just gently pressed his mouth against hers. And, all at once, she felt an overwhelming pressure seize her, as another finger drove into her. “ _Holy_ –” 

He stared up at her, wholly transfixed by the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her mouth tipped open, barely forming the first few letters of his name. And he wound his fingers at full tilt, kissing her neck, murmuring willowy, nurturing vows against her skin. “Bell– I’m going to–”

And the air was torn from her lungs, just for a moment, as she felt the acute absence of him. But the need didn’t last for long, as his tongue replaced his fingers, laying itself against her, again, again. With a few more sweeps of his mouth, she fell apart on him in a waning scream, one hand roughly nested in his hair, the other clenching the blanket in her palm. Lingering shudders breezed over her body as his mouth traveled back up, his smile firm on her skin. “Was that good?” 

She huffed a shaky laugh. “Good? Yeah, it was good.”

After the flutters unwillingly dwindled, she flipped him over and tore off his shirt. Her mouth drew a familiar path down his chest, his muscles flexing under the soft press of her lips. And her touch was searing, impatient; she tangled her tongue with his, relishing in the taste of him, keeping him for herself. A heated battle that he had no chance of winning.

But he pulled back, leaving her panting. The annoyance dug deep into her fingers as they curled against his shoulders. “Slow down. We have time.” 

“Didn’t take you for the boring type, Blake.”

He laughed, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “It’s not gonna work, Princess.” 

“We’ll see about that.”

In a flash, she was at his waist, his belt ripped off so roughly that the leather lashed across his skin. In seconds, her tongue drew soothing lines against his hip bones as she hastily undressed him. After the layers of fabric flew off, she sat back on her knees, wide-eyed. “Um.”

He quickly shot up, lifting her chin with his finger. “We don’t have to.”

“I thought you knew me better by now.”  
  
“ _F_ _uck.”_

He didn’t have time to blink before her small, soft mouth was on him, her tongue winding and laying wicked, wild streaks of pleasure on him. Despite the silky curves and smooth lines of her body, nothing about her touch was slow, or delicate– it was an ache, a longing that’s hardly satiated. And it’d been a long time coming. 

Her mouth and hand worked in tandem, and with every duck, she fell until she had him completely, all to herself. And he let out a lustful, agonized growl. The most beautiful, satisfying melody for her ears. And as he yanked her up by her arms, her smile was all-too coquettish. “Take it slow, huh?”

His laugh was deep, gruff in her ear. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” 

She reached down and held him in her hand, running her palm up and down. “I do, actually.”

A dark, dangerous noise sounded in the back of his throat. Her other hand forced his chin up to look at her. “Come on, Bell.”

He hesitated.

And the prettiest, most demure pout played at her lips. “Please?” 

He groaned, and his resolve finally splintered. “You know what happens when you pout at me.”

And he pressed into her with one, hard thrust. The painful pleasure ripped a scream from her lips, and his eyes widened. He placed a hand over her mouth, but he’s soon distracted by the throbbing, the trembles around him. He looked down, in awe. “Did you– just?”  
  
She nodded, her own palm placed firmly over her mouth to smother the anguished whines that tempted to erupt from her throat. 

And his willpower dissipates into pathetic heaps of nothingness. “ _God,_ that’s hot.”

It spun into something untamed, fierce as he slammed into her, and the ache against him grew white-hot, sending him into someplace that bloomed in rapture. They snarled together like time was running out, like the dangerous uncertainty of their lives hung over them in a humid, palpable fog. 

Another scream threatened to slip through her fingers. Bending down to press his chest against hers, some of his curls spilling onto her forehead, he pried her hand away. “It’s okay, Princess. Let it out.” 

“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!_ ” she gasped, her nerve-endings practically combusting with overstimulation, with an inundation of pleasure that she couldn’t bear anymore. 

His mouth dipped to her ear. “Who makes you scream like that?” 

“You.” 

His hand crept down to where they met, bringing her to the edge, not slowing his pace. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say my name.” He punctuated each word with a forceful press into her. 

And she fell apart with a chanting of his name, the stars above her swaying together in a shimmering, dazzling, lustrous ballet. He grabbed her chin and pulled it down. “Look at me.”

The constellations fell on his face, gracing his features, the curve of his lips, the intensity nestled in his irises, the taut muscles of his shoulders. And, somehow, she continued to plummet in his arms, succumbing to her own undoing. It was enough for him to bury his face in her neck, groaning her name like its worship, evensong. Pressing into her one, two more times before she felt him unravel around her.

As they both lazily came down, their bodies fluttered together, still desperate for each press of skin, each caress against the untouched. And with a shared collapse, they waited for the air to seep back into their lungs, their chests to stop heaving.

After those languid, blissful moments, she swung a leg over his hip, and felt him trace stars on the column of her spine. 

“Bellamy."

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” 

He fell silent. She quickly tensed, ready to tell him that it’s okay if he doesn’t–

But the earth suddenly spun around her as he pulled her up, a dizzying, spellbinding grin on his face. “Really?”

She nodded, softly touching his cheek. 

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

He laughed in disbelief and pressed his forehead against hers. She flicked a finger against his chest. “Can you say it back now, you ass?” 

And, finally, after weeks of holding himself back, he cupped her face in his hands, letting himself fall into the incomparable, bluest, most ridiculously mesmerizing eyes.

“Clarke, I have been in love with you for so long. I was just waiting for you to catch up.” 

“Sorry for the wait.”

He laughed breathlessly and tackled her down with him. And as their lips and limbs raveled together, counting each fallen star, each spin of the moon in the sky, every dot of Cassiopeia, they breathed in every inch of each other. Crashing together again, and again, until daylight.

**__**

**PRESENT**

She lies on her side, staring at him. His kind eyes, all liquid gold. The curve of his cupid's bow, nuzzling each inch of her skin. Curls that fall in his face, annoying her as she tries to kiss him. His laugh, his smile.

He is everything, all at once. She is safe. She is safe.  
  


* * *

**EPILOGUE**

“Monty and Jasper did a good job." 

“I was afraid they’d sneak in moonshine bottles into one of the building blocks.”

Clarke throws her head back in laughter as she cuddles into Bellamy’s side on the log bench. They watch as the toddlers and kids of the camp stumble around the new playground, fixed with wood, netting, and vines. 

Lincoln chases Claudia’s tiny legs around one of the climbing domes that Jasper (very cleverly) named, “Mount Aurora.” Harper holds Jordan– Jasper was overjoyed to be the first to hold the infant– on the swings. Shaw holds Zeke on his shoulders, walking him through the monkey bars, Raven on his side.

“Dad!”

She feels herself knocked backwards as a small set of arms wraps around Bellamy.

“Whoa!” Alex has now jumped onto him and crawled over his shoulders. “Hey, little newt.” 

She hangs down over his face. “I hate it when you call me that."

He poked her stomach. “Too bad. That was what you looked like in your mama’s tummy.” 

When she was born, he was thrilled to see that Alexandra was, indeed, a tiny Clarke. She had curly gold hair, and the biggest, bluest eyes. Reaching over his head, he grabs her and sets her down.

“Ooooh,” she giggles, rubbing her eyes. “Dizzy.”

She leaps from Bellamy's lap to her arms. “Mama!” 

“Baby!" She shifts. "Be careful, I have another little newt in there.” 

She frowns. “But I’m little newt.”

“You’re right. This little one is more like a banana, right now.”

“I don’t want a banana as a brother or sister.” 

“Alex!” Madi sprints over, hands on her knees. “You can't run off like that!” 

Clarke frowns at Madi. “You let her run away?” 

“It wasn’t my fault! I think she got into Artigas’ stash. Now she’s all on this sugar high.” She gestures at the child, who was now spinning in circles around them.

“You’re seeing Artigas, again?” He narrows his eyes, catching Alex when she spins past him again, without looking down. “You’ve seen him twice this week.”

Madi rolls her eyes. “Chill, Bellamy. It's not like that.”

It is, though. Madi confided in her last night, explaining that Artigas kissed her after walking her home. She made her promise that she would always be safe, and before she got into the birds and the bees, Madi stopped her with a “ _E_ _w, Clarke!”_ And then promised. 

“Come on, Alex,” Madi holds out her hand. “Uncle Jasper can do the Dropship with you again.” 

She perks up and sprints away. Madi sighs and follows her, reluctantly. 

“Do I even want to know what ‘the Dropship’ is?” 

She laughs. “It might be better if we don’t ask."

They watch Jasper pick her up and hold her over his head.

“Well, that’s promising.” 

She looks down at her stomach. “Twenty more weeks. Hang in there, little baby.”

“Twenty one more weeks and we can try for another.”

She looks at him incredulously. “How many tiny me's do you want?”

“Hm. Five.”

“Five?” she shrieks. “Youtry going through pregnancy and childbirth first. Then you can demand more children from me."

They look out at Camp Aurora, with the bustling playground full of overactive, healthy children. Mothers and fathers watching on from their porches. Definitely underaged teenagers drinking moonshine on the patio of the mess hall. The cabins exuding a soft, orange glow. Their friends–Harper, Monty, Miller, Jasper, Raven, Octavia, even Murphy, all scattered around camp– with the light returned to their eyes. 

She smiles, proudly. “We all did that. Together. We’re creating a better world for them.”

“So… can this ‘better world’ fit a few more tiny Clarke’s?”

She playfully slaps his chest. “You’re ridiculous."

And, a few years later, they were a family of seven. 


End file.
